The Journey
by minervathefeline
Summary: The wizarding world can finally get on with their lives now that Voldemort is gone. But can they do so without driving each other insane? Post-DH story of Dumbledore and Minerva's relationship, obviously AU. Read and review!
1. Fitting In

**The Journey  
**By Minervathefeline

_PLEASE READ: Alright, here is my newest story. It'll be a long one, I think, and ADMM. It has some of my own characters, but will focus largely on Minerva McGonagall. It is post-DH, and AU, because Dumbledore is alive. Everyone else who died in DH is still dead, however. This story is basically a non-serious, drama fic that will detail the time period after Voldemort is killed by Harry Potter. It is mostly about Dumbledore and Minerva and their relationship, but will include some others as well, such as Poppy Pomfrey and Pomona Sprout. Hope you enjoy! Don't forget to review! :)_

_Summary: The wizarding world can finally get back to living now that Voldemort is dead-but can they do so without driving each other insane?  
Disclaimer: Don't own this, obviously._

**And, here we go!**

**Ch. 1 Fitting In**

'Congratulations, Ms Crawford. Welcome to the Hogwarts staff.' Professor Dumbledore shook the plump, rosy woman's hand as he stood. He was very pleased with his choice of Muggle Studies teacher—the position had been terribly hard to fill this year, after all the horrors of the last. But he was confident that this woman, Trudy Crawford was her name, would suit the job perfectly. She was kind and understanding, but capable of being firm. In addition, she was a half-blood, a fact that Dumbledore hoped would help banish any lingering preconceptions that to be an expert on Muggles one had to be muggle-born. (The exception to this rule was Arthur Weasley, but for some reason people never seemed to count him.)

'Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I look forward to working here,' Trudy said happily. She wasn't lying; in fact, Trudy was practically trembling with anticipation. She loved Hogwarts, she loved children, and she loved Muggles. She could hardly wait to join this most prestigious of wizarding schools, among the most powerful witches and wizards of the age. Albus Dumbledore, who'd tricked death; Minerva McGonagall, his second-in-command, still a formidable force despite her age; Filius Flitwick, the duelling champion; Pomona Sprout, one of the wizarding world's most prominent authorities on Herbology; and Horace Slughorn, who was connected to so many famous witches and wizards. Trudy didn't know who the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was this year—she'd meet them in late August.

'Now, Ms Crawford—my apologies, Professor Crawford—it is customary for my staff to return home for the summer, only Mr Filch stays during vacation. However, in light of, well, recent events, most of them have remained over the summer. I believe Minerva's presence here was actually mandatory, she wasn't pleased. That being said, I believe they are in the staffroom now. Would you like to meet them?' Professor Dumbledore twinkled kindly at her, watching her ill-disguised delight.

'Yes, thank you,' Trudy said finally, not trusting herself to say more than that. She could meet them all now; see them all, in the flesh! She couldn't speak, but Professor Dumbledore seemed to understand, for he smiled at her kindly and, sweeping around the desk, held open the office door for her. Trudy had to keep herself from bouncing as she walked past him and rode the spiral staircase to the bottom.

When she got her voice back, Trudy decided to ask a question. Just one, mind you, instead of the hundreds flying around her head. It was quite a dizzying sensation. 'Why was Professor McGonagall's presence here mandatory?' Trudy was utterly determined to treat every professor here with the highest level of respect.

'When Minerva first started working here, she did quite a bit of architectural work, strengthening Hogwarts' structure and so on. The castle was originally built using magic, so it's fairly sturdy, but of course it has been around for over a thousand years. When the Last Battle was held here, the school suffered quite a bit of damage.' Professor Dumbledore looked slightly pained, as if it hurt him to think of the castle falling apart. 'Obviously, Minerva is the best person to turn to when repairing the castle. She's been working with a team from Magical Maintenance for most of the summer.' Professor Dumbledore smiled cheerfully.

Trudy found herself, yet again, rendered speechless. Professor McGonagall seemed more and more remarkable with every passing minute.

The two of them made their way along the corridors to the staffroom, Professor Dumbledore pointing out various shortcuts and portraits as they went along. Finally, they stopped outside a door guarded by two very ugly stone gargoyles, who leered at Trudy as if she was fresh meat. She skittered around them nervously.

'Now,' Professor Dumbledore said, pausing. 'I feel I must warn you. My staff normally has the summer to, shall we say, recuperate. They haven't had that opportunity this year, so they may be irritable. Do try to take everything they say with a grain of salt, as the Muggles say.' Trudy nodded in recognition of the Muggle expression, but her stomach lurched unpleasantly. Did that they were going to be mean to her?

'Oh, they'll be perfectly courteous to you, Professor Crawford, do not worry,' said Professor Dumbledore reassuringly, as if he had read her mind. 'It's when they talk to each other that you have to worry. Most of them have worked together for decades, you see. A few knew each other during their school days. They are perhaps _too _comfortable with each other.' And with a wink and smile, Professor Dumbledore opened the staffroom door.

'Attention, everyone, please,' Professor Dumbledore called to the room. The staffroom was comfortably furnished with several squashy armchairs, a sofa, a fireplace, and a long table surrounded by chairs. It was full of people, all in light summer robes. They seemed to be arguing about something, but stopped when Professor Dumbledore called.

'May I present our new Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Trudy Crawford.' Professor Dumbledore gestured to the middle-aged woman as everyone applauded politely. Wondering if she ought to speak, Trudy stood there awkwardly and nervously rocked back on her heels. She was saved the dilemma of making a speech, however, by a woman who was undoubtedly Professor McGonagall.

She was tall and thin, her deep green summer robes billowing and sweeping the floor. She had sharp, arresting eyes and a very stern face. Despite all Trudy had heard about Professor McGonagall's jet-black hair and its infamous tight bun, it was currently in a fixed ponytail at the back of her head, and fell to the middle of her back. A pointed black witches' hat sat on her head at a no-nonsense angle, and her heels clicked as she walked forwards. Notwithstanding all of this, her expression was kind as she held out her hand.

'Pleasure to meet you, Ms Crawford,' Professor McGonagall said, and for the sake of introductions, added, 'Minerva McGonagall.' Trudy shook Professor McGonagall's firm hand, hard-put to contain her excitement. Minerva McGonagall was everything Trudy had thought she would be.

Professor Dumbledore checked his pocket watch. 'Minerva, I'm sorry to leave all of this on you, but I am expected at the ministry in a bit.' He looked apologetic as he spoke to the already extremely busy witch. Professor McGonagall nodded and waved her hand dismissively.

'Of course, Albus, that's fine. We'll be alright here. Only if you see Kingsley, give him my regards, won't you?' Professor McGonagall requested, even as Dumbledore made his way to the door, nodding at her request. With a quick farewell, he was gone.

'Come along, where are your manners?' Professor McGonagall said wryly, shooting a glance at everyone who remained. Immediately, there was a flurry or movement, and Trudy found herself shaking hands with a very small wizard with a very squeaky voice.

'Filius Flitwick, Charms teacher. Wonderful to meet you, Trudy,' the tiny old man squeaked cheerfully, shaking Trudy's hand with youthful enthusiasm. Then; 'Horace Slughorn, pleased to make you acquaintance,' shaking hands over an enormous belly; there was also 'Lovely to meet you, I'm Pomona Sprout, I'm over by the Greenhouses,' said by a dumpy witch with flyaway away hair, a patched hat, and a rather dirty cloak. Her hand was wrung also by a strict-looking witch who introduced herself as 'Poppy Pomfrey, I'm the school matron. It's very nice to meet you, I do hope you'll enjoy working here,' a phrase which seemed to draw several sniggers. Professor McGonagall gave them a dirty look and shooed them all away, for which Trudy was somewhat grateful. She did, after all, need to breathe.

'Don't crowd her, honestly, don't any of you have work to do?' the witch snapped, glaring at Slughorn, who had opened his mouth no doubt to begin a rather long-winded speech.

'Only you work during the summer, Minerva,' Slughorn retorted, but he was instantly shot down by a tirade of angry hisses from the rest of the staff, all of whom were shooting anxious looks the Deputy Headmistress.

'An excellent reminder, Horace, thank you,' Professor McGonagall replied stiffly. 'If you will excuse me…' and with a nod to Trudy, she left, the click of her heels fading into the distance.

As soon as the sound had died away, Professor Sprout turned to Slughorn, obviously angry. 'Well done, Horace,' she snapped sarcastically.

'What did _I _do?' Slughorn replied defensively. 'It's not my fault he's got her working all hours, is it?' The Potions master was evidently continuing an earlier conversation. The only question was who the _he _was that Slughorn had referred to.

'We'd just gotten her to take a break, Horace, you know how exhausted she is…' Madam Pomfrey said with a glance at the closed door. 'Well, never mind it now, it's too late to do anything.'

'Not a very pleasant start for Trudy, though, is it?' Professor Sprout said with a sigh and glance at the newest professor. 'Would you care for a tour of the grounds, Trudy?' Professor Sprout offered kindly.

Trudy had been standing stock still during this whole exchange, feeling quite out her element and suddenly rather scared. Could she possibly belong among these people? She'd been quite relieved by Professor Sprout's offer, and took her up on it quickly. Of all the teachers in the room, Professor Sprout looked by far the most friendly, followed perhaps by Professor Flitwick.

As the two exited the staffroom and made their way to the front doors, Professor Sprout—'Call me Pomona, dear,'—had apologised for the shameful display. 'Everyone's a bit tense right now, I'm dreadfully sorry. Minerva will probably come find us later and apologise, she'll be horrified we made such an awful first impression.' The thought of Professor Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and Deputy Headmistress, apologising to lowly little Trudy Crawford, just fifty-five last month and not even started teaching yet, had Trudy shaking her head frantically.

'Oh, no, it wasn't awful at all! It was quite intimidating, I'll admit, but Professor McGonagall was amazing, really, everyone was, I expect things do get a bit tense, what with everyone together for a whole year…' realising she was rambling, Trudy shut up. Pomona laughed kindly though, and Trudy instantly felt better.

When they returned to the castle a little while later for lunch, everyone was on their best behaviour, and things went off without a hitch. Trudy had a slight suspicion that Professor McGonagall, who had returned for lunch, and had, indeed, (rather formally) apologised to Trudy, had ordered everyone to behave.

The rest of the day passed without incident, and, although Trudy felt slightly worried that she wasn't quite the calibre of witch that Hogwarts required, she was quite looking forward to working here in the fall. She accepted with some surprise Professor McGonagall's offer to show Trudy to her rooms, and after tea, the two bade good-night to everyone else and set off.

It was a few minutes before Professor McGonagall spoke. 'I'll introduce you to Hagrid tomorrow, if you wish. He looks rather frightening, but he's quite gentle, I can assure you.' Trudy expressed her thanks and asked why Hagrid (odd name, she thought) looked frightening. In her usual, no-nonsense manner, Professor McGonagall said 'He's half-giant, and has been living on the school grounds since he was thirteen.' Trudy stifled her shock and they fell back into silence.

They finally reached Trudy's new rooms. Trudy hesitated at the door. 'If there's anything you need or wish to ask, feel free to ask me,' Professor McGonagall said as she prepared to leave.

Before she knew what she was doing, Trudy called out, 'Wait!' Professor McGonagall turned around, eyebrows slightly raised, but her expression was (sort of) welcoming.

Trudy didn't know why she was asking Professor McGonagall, this stern witch who looked as though she had never had a moment's self-doubt in her life, but Trudy felt strangely drawn to her. 'Do you think I'll fit in here?' she blurted before she could stop herself. 'I mean, everyone's just so talented and powerful, and all I can do is talk to Muggles…' Trudy trailed off, waiting nervously.

Professor McGonagall gave what Trudy knew to be a rare, gentle laugh. 'Professor,' she said, although the term was technically untrue, 'you won't fit in at Hogwarts. People will fit you in of their own accord.' Trudy felt the knot in her stomach lessen pleasantly. 'And any magic-raised witch or wizard who can hold a normal conversation with a Muggle is a talented witch or wizard to me. Welcome to Hogwarts, Trudy Crawford.' And with that, Minerva McGonagall disappeared into the dark.

TBC

**A/N: **The pace will definitely pick up after this chapter, which is, after all, usually the worst. Review, and the next update will be very quick! :)


	2. A Fearful First Night

_Hey everyone, here's chapter two of _The Journey, _hope you all enjoy. Thanks to nimivi, eternal vampire, and greenlover2 for the reviews. Chapter 3 should be up shortly, and hopefully the pace will start to pick up from there. Review please, and happy reading!  
_(Disclaimer again? Sure: Not mine. There.)

Ch. 2 A Fearful First Night

Minerva McGonagall entered her office after leaving Ms Crawford, only to find someone was already in it.

Dumbledore sat her desk, the lights lit, the fire roaring, casually perusing the most recent of the architectural plans she and the Magical Maintenance crew had developed. When she entered, showing little surprise at his unexpected presence in her office, he smiled and tossed the parchment to one side.

'Ah, Minerva. You're later than I expected,' Dumbledore said, standing as Minerva swept by him, collected the plans, and went into her personal chambers. He followed, striding into a warm, comfortable room that seemed to display a definite theme of tartan and Gryffindor. Seating himself down on a cream coloured couch with a tartan blanket thrown over the back, he watched as she filed the papers away and disappeared for a moment, reappearing moments later with a pot of tea.

'I showed Ms Crawford to her room,' she offered by way of explanation. Unlike himself, Minerva gave newcomers the title of Professor only when term started and the title was officially true. 'When did you return?'

'About,' Dumbledore checked the carriage clock on the mantle, 'twenty minutes ago. I expected you to return around that time, although I must admit it didn't occur to me to account for your hospitable actions.' Minerva shrugged, pouring herself and her guest a cup of tea. He accepted it with thanks.

After they had both taken their first sip in companionable silence, Dumbledore spoke. 'What did you think of her?' Albus Dumbledore had long since come to appreciate Minerva McGonagall's ability to bluntly give her first impression of any new person in the castle. Her opinion was usually later proved to be both true and useful, and Dumbledore used this talent frequently. Although he himself had a similar gift, Minerva was a woman, and therefore had different perspectives.

Minerva took another sip of tea before answering. 'She reminds me of Pomona when she first started working here.'

'Yes, I see what you mean,' Dumbledore said with a chuckle. It was true that Trudy did in some ways resemble the cheerful, enthusiastic young woman Pomona Sprout had been when she'd started working here. (Not young, exactly; Pomona had been forty-three her first year of teaching.)

'However, I do think she may need to…toughen up, so to speak,' Minerva added thoughtfully. 'She seems a bit…innocent. Pomona was a bit more resilient. I wouldn't want any of the students to take advantage of Trudy. Or hurt her,' she added as an afterthought.

Dumbledore frowned as he considered this. 'Does she appear so obviously innocent to you?' he asked, concerned. 'I'd assumed she'd be able to handle any rowdy seventh-years, but if you think differently…' he trailed off.

'Oh, no, I'm sure she'll be fine. It's simply that the first week of teaching may be more difficult for her than she thinks,' Minerva assured him. 'She'll get through it. We all did.'

Dumbledore chuckled to remember Minerva's first term here. An unfortunate incident had required Dumbledore to rise to the position of Headmaster just before Christmas, leaving an empty hole in the place where a Transfiguration teacher was supposed to be. Thankfully, they'd found the perfect replacement—Minerva—but it had been hard on her nevertheless, and for the students as well.

But Minerva was right; Trudy would be just as fine as Minerva was. 'Remember your first term here?' Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling.

Minerva offered him a wry smile, evidently having just been thinking of that herself. 'Of course. I remember that you were late to meet me at the gates my first day here.' She grinned and raised a challenging eyebrow.

Dumbledore cringed. No one would ever let him forget that. Horace Slughorn, in particular, was rather fond of telling the story. 'I had a very crucial meeting,' Dumbledore replied, raising his chin defensively. 'It wasn't my fault it ran late. It was important.'

'More important than me?' Minerva challenged, her other eyebrow joining the first. Her eyes sparkled with humour.

There was a moment of silence as they locked gazes. 'Nothing is more important than you, Minerva,' Dumbledore said. His eyes were no longer twinkling, but rather burning with an intensity Minerva rarely saw. She swallowed.

'Tell that to the ministry the next time they request your presence,' she shot back. Minerva McGonagall was never at a loss for words, and the tension broke.

Dumbledore chuckled. _Ah, Minerva. _'Well, my dear, I fear I am cutting into your beauty sleep.' He ignored Minerva's _harrumph _at the odd term. 'I shall see you tomorrow?'

Minerva scowled as she rose. 'Of course. I haven't got much of a choice, have I? Idiots can't even repair a school without someone telling them the Levitation incantation…' she trailed off, muttering under her breath about incompetent workers and ridiculous salaries. Dumbledore chuckled once again.

Rising, and placing his empty teacup on the table, Albus started for the door. 'Thank you for the company and tea, Minerva. It was excellent, as usual.'

'You're quite welcome,' she replied, not sure if he meant the tea or the company. His eyes twinkled as if he could read her mind, and, with a last farewell, he left.

Minerva prepared for bed, undressing and brushing her hair. Dumbledore was an infuriating man.

She extinguished the lights with a wave of her hand and climbed into bed, rolling onto her side. It had been quite a tiring day, and it _was _getting late. She didn't particularly mind Albus' late night visits, but she did have to get up early to supervise the Magical Maintenance crew. She didn't want them collapsing her school. She was quite used to surviving on only a few hours' sleep, but that didn't mean she didn't prefer getting more than four or five hours a night if the situation warranted it.

Minerva was just starting to drift off when a shrill scream battered through her bedroom door and shocked her fully awake. She leaped out of bed, stubbed her toe, grabbed her nightdress and wand, and, still swearing, hurried into the corridor.

Dumbledore was already there. 'Any idea?' she asked. One of the first things she had learned about late night emergencies was to talk as briefly and as to-the-point as possible. It wasn't long before Flitwick and Sprout came hurrying towards them, wands raised.

Sprout lowered her wand when she saw the two of them. 'Find anything?' she asked, looking troubled. They'd never had an emergency after the students had left, most likely because no one was ever actually at the castle during the summer, except for Filch. That meant that the scream had come from one of the teachers still here; Minerva knew she would personally hex the screamer if that person happened to be Sybil Trelawney- again.

It had been only a few years ago, just half past midnight, and the anguished scream that had somehow been magnified to several times its usual volume had managed to penetrate the thick stone walls of Minerva's bedroom. She'd flung herself out of bed, nearly frantic with the thought that one of her students might be hurt or in trouble, hair a mess and glasses askew. Dumbledore had just returned from a late-night ministry meeting and hadn't been woken. Minerva had quickly organized the teachers into three search parties and sent them off.

It had perhaps been fortunate for Trelawney that it hadn't been Minerva's group to find her at the bottom of the North Tower, gibbering about a horrible vision she'd just had about the minister for magic and some sort of gum disease, or she might have been hexed on the spot. As it was, Minerva had shouted at the woman for a solid ten minutes when she arrived. It was only when she'd calmed down slightly that she had suggested to Sybil, through a tightly clenched jaw, to scream _only _when there was an actual crisis. And no, a vision did _not _count as an event that warranted immediate action at two in the morning.

It had been past three when Minerva had finally made it to bed, only after reassuring awoken students that there was nothing wrong, sent Albus back to bed (he'd woken up during Minerva's screaming chastisement of Trelawney), and calmed herself enough for sleep. It had been an extremely irate Professor McGonagall that had greeted the Headmaster the next morning.

All of this flashed through Minerva's mind as she lit her wand with a flick of her wrist, hardly noticing that Filius mirrored her actions. She personally vowed to remove Sybil's voice if she was the one responsible for dragging her out of bed at one in the morning. 'Where's Horace?' Filius squeaked, glancing around, drawing Minerva's attention to him.

'He probably didn't hear,' she replied. 'He's all the way down in the dungeons, after all.' Dumbledore nodded his agreement of her logic.

'We should split up, see if we can't find who screamed- am I correct in assuming it wasn't any of you?' Dumbledore looked at his Heads of House, seeking affirmation, which came in the form of a nod. 'Then might I suggest-.' Then, something happened that hadn't before: the woman screamed again.

Minerva took off down the hallway in the direction of the scream, Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Sprout hot on her heels. Minerva continued to run after the scream had died away, and it took them a moment to realize where she was going: Trudy's room.

Minerva came to Trudy's door and pushed it open, going inside before coming to an abrupt halt. Dumbledore nearly crashed into her back, but when the others arrived, they all stared in confusion.

A huge snake, ten feet tall and hissing furiously, was glowing in the moonlight on one side of the room, in front of a wooden wardrobe. Its black scales glittered dangerously with every movement, poison dripping from its fangs. Trudy was shrinking against the opposite wall, pale as ghost, and shaking violently. Her eyes never left the giant snake, which was slowly writhing towards her. She looked as if she might pass out at any given moment.

Dumbledore was the first to understand. 'Boggart,' he said suddenly, as the realization hit him, and the others understood immediately. Minerva took a step forwards and raised her wand, crying, 'Ridikkulous!' The giant snake turned to her and, with a crack, was all of a sudden a giant, growling dog with thick, ragged fur. Another wave of Minerva's wand, and the Boggart had vanished. The four teachers hurried to Trudy, who looked as though she might never speak again, and helped her to the couch.

'Are you alright?' Dumbledore asked, his brow furrowed in concern as they gathered around her. Sprout quietly called for a cup of tea, and within seconds a wizened house-elf appeared, bearing a cup of the steaming liquid before vanishing. Sprout handed the woman the comforting drink.

'I'm fine,' gasped Trudy, apparently disregarding how transparent the lie was. 'I just- goodness, that was foolish of me- was that a- a Boggart, you said?' Her trembling hands tightened around the mug of tea as she took a shaky sip.

'That's right, dear, just a Boggart. It wasn't real,' Pomona assured her soothingly. 'There aren't very many of them in the school, and Minerva's taken care of this one, you needn't worry.' Trudy nodded hastily and swallowed another gulp of tea, ignoring the burning sensation in her throat.

Dumbledore glanced at Minerva, who looked slightly shaken. She caught him looking and quickly, visibly calmed herself, offering him a slight smile. It was never easy to face your fears, and Minerva was no different. He wondered what had happened to make her so afraid of that dog, because he had been fairly certain that when Minerva had first started working here, her Boggart had been the corpse of her brother, Bran, who was still alive. Dumbledore turned his attention back to Trudy.

'I'm alright,' Trudy was saying, and she had regained enough colour for the statement to obtain some semblance of truth. Dumbledore nodded and rose to his feet.

'I am terribly sorry about the scare, Ms Crawford,' he told her gently. 'I can imagine the fright that surprise must have given you. I can, however, assure you that there are no real, giant snakes in this castle.' Trudy gave a weak laugh and rose to her feet.

'I'll be fine, thank you, everyone. It never occurred to me that it might be a Boggart. I'll just head off to bed,' Trudy decided, moving towards her chamber door. 'Thank you all again,' she repeated, nodding to Professor McGonagall, who had, after all, banished the Boggart at her own personal expense. Trudy entered her rooms and closed the door quietly behind her.

By mutual agreement, the other four silently exited into the corridor and parted with a quiet goodnight. Minerva and Albus headed off in the same direction. Dumbledore wanted to ask Minerva if she was alright without mentioning the dog.

'Are you alright?' he asked her quietly, as they made their way along in the dark, the only light coming from Minerva's lit wand. Their footsteps echoed quietly up and down the corridor.

'I'm fine,' she replied with a faint smile. 'It was just a bit of a shock.' Minerva glanced at him, taking note of the shadows under his eyes. 'You should get to bed, Albus. You look exhausted.' Dumbledore at last gave a faint chuckle as they arrived at her door.

'I'm very glad that you're well,' he told her with a smile. 'And as usual, you are right, Minerva. I should go to bed. Good night, my dear.' He patted her shoulder and gave a bright, sparkling smile before turning away.

'Good night, Albus,' Minerva said quietly, ignoring the odd tingling her shoulder seemed to be experiencing. He waved over his shoulder and disappeared into the dark.

TBC

_Reviews, constructive criticism, all that good stuff. ;) Thanks!_


	3. Understanding Relationships

_Chapter 3 has arrived, and much sooner than I expected! :) Hope you all enjoy this one, but before that, just a few little side notes:_

danidepaula: thanks very much for your kind words. i hope this update was fast enough for you!

eternal vampire: albus and minerva's relationship will definitely be very slow in coming, and hopefully with a fair bit of drama, too ;) glad you like it, hope you keep reading!

VoyICJ: unfortunately, there are going to be a few more OC's with a bigger role to play in this fic, but i hope you like them as well :)

And here we go! :)

**Ch. 3 Understanding Relationships**

'Merlin, but you look tired, Minerva,' Madam Pomfrey greeted Minerva at breakfast the next morning. The matron had already served herself a plate of sausages and fried eggs and was pouring herself a glass of pumpkin juice when Minerva seated herself next to her.

'Boggarts,' Minerva muttered in annoyance. 'I will never understand their purpose.' Trudy squirmed guiltily in her seat, but Flitwick, perched on several cushions, patted her hand cheerfully, as though in reassurance of her innocence.

'Boggarts don't have a purpose, Minerva,' Poppy told her, handing her friend a stack of toast, along with a pot of strong tea. She looked distinctly amused. 'They seek only to frighten you.'

'Then they should not exist,' Minerva stated firmly, spreading a bitter marmalade over a slice of toast. 'Everything should have a purpose.' Minerva did not even look up as Dumbledore seated himself next to her.

'And what is your purpose, Professor McGonagall?' he asked her, amused, his eyes sparkling behind his half-moon spectacles. Minerva handed him the pot of tea with a very stiff look.

'My purpose is to teach, protect the students, and fight Dark magic,' she informed him pompously. 'And don't tell me yours is to eat sweets, Dumbledore!' Trudy, listening, could never get over the casual way everyone called the Headmaster 'Dumbledore'. It seemed disrespectful.

The Headmaster laughed. 'I wouldn't dream of it, my dear,' he assured her before turning to his breakfast. Trudy noticed he added three sugars to his tea and rather a lot of cream, and suppressed a smile, which turned to a giggle when Dumbledore winked at her.

The conversation was light-hearted during the course of breakfast, pausing for a few minutes when the post arrived and several members of the staff read the _Daily Prophet. _Trudy sat comfortably in her chair, sipping a cup of tea, and jumped when Professor McGonagall addressed her.

'I am sorry that I cannot introduce you to Hagrid this morning,' she told Trudy. 'Magical Maintenance has need of me until lunch. Perhaps this afternoon?' she offered. Trudy accepted gratefully, though not entirely sure how much she wanted to meet this half-giant.

'That's just as well, Minerva,' Dumbledore said to Minerva, folding up his paper. 'I do believe Hagrid intended to find an injured unicorn this morning. He believes he will be free this afternoon.' Turning to Flitwick, he said, 'I believe Trudy received a tour of the grounds yesterday, Filius – could I perhaps prevail upon you to give her a tour of the castle?'

Trudy felt herself blushing. 'That's not necessary, Headmaster. I needn't be entertained all day until term begins.' She felt rather like a child that required constant supervision. She knew she was already one of the youngest staff members, and Dumbledore's suggestion certainly hadn't made her feel more mature.

'All of my teachers are given a tour, my dear Professor, not to worry. It was given even to those who attended Hogwarts only a short while before returning to teach,' Professor Dumbledore assured her happily. 'I seem to remember Minerva assuring me that her memory was as good as ever, and certainly hadn't faltered in the ten years that-.' Minerva cleared her throat.

'As fascinating as my history may be to you, Albus, I doubt that Ms Crawford is terribly interested,' Professor McGonagall interrupted. 'More to the point that it is, after all, her decision of whether or not she feels a tour is necessary,' she continued pointedly. 'Now, if you will excuse me, I have a castle to rebuild.' Minerva rose to her feet and swept regally from the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Professor Dumbledore chuckled, looking amused. 'Ah, Minerva,' he said, almost wistfully. 'Well, do excuse me, everyone. I have some business to attend to. Trudy, I leave the decision up to you. I shall see you all at lunch. Good-day.' And with that, Dumbledore departed, his robes swishing around his ankles and the sound of his footsteps faded away.

'Yes, but I redesigned the structure years ago, and it's quite different than these original plans,' Minerva was saying when Dumbledore approached her and the work crew. 'The ceiling is arched now, not planar, and the angle between the wall and ceiling is significantly higher.' Dumbledore suppressed a smile as he watched the wizard she had been speaking to, a portly man named Smye, frown in concentration as they bent over the blueprints.

'But the spells that damaged the school, they overcame the original spells set on the castle's structure?' he asked, his thick eyebrows contracting over his deep-set eyes. Minerva sighed exasperatedly, and was prepared to explain it for the last time when she caught sight of Dumbledore. Her face brightened.

Dumbledore felt a slight pang of guilt when he saw her face. He knew the others, predominantly Poppy and Pomona, were not particularly pleased with him for failing to limit Minerva's workload this summer. She did work for him, work for the school, work for the staff – and now he had added the ministry on top of it. Despite what he had told Trudy, Minerva's presence at the school wasn't mandatory, but rather, preferred. And Minerva, being an entirely selfless person, had grudgingly agreed. The result of all of this was a Professor McGonagall who sported faint shadows under her eyes and a slighter thinner figure than was healthy.

The crew was currently working outside on the front lawn. Someone had conjured a table, and now quills, bottles of ink, and rolls of parchment lay all over it. Minerva had been pointing to a detailed illustration of the fourth floor corridor, but now she rolled it up and turned to face Albus.

'Good afternoon, gentlemen,' Dumbledore greeted the navy robe-clad workers with a slight inclination of his head. 'I am terribly sorry to interrupt, but the hour is now,' he paused as the clock chimed twelve in the distance, 'noon, and time for a break.' He smiled cheerfully, his half-moon spectacles glinting happily in the sun. 'Minerva, might I prevail upon you to join me for lunch?'

Minerva looked both annoyed and relieved, but she nodded her agreement. 'Of course, Headmaster.' She turned to Smye, who was fumbling with rolls of parchment. 'I shall bring the most current blueprints to you tomorrow morning. May I trust that you are capable of functioning until then?' Smye flinched slightly at the tone of sarcasm in her voice but nodded quickly, and Minerva departed.

Minerva's emerald summer robes rustled brusquely as she swept by Dumbledore and up the front steps into the castle. Dumbledore's long strides quickly caught up to Minerva's irritated gait, but she slowed as soon as they were a decent distance from the front lawn. She sighed almost inaudibly.

'You look tired, Minerva,' Dumbledore said gently, reaching out a concerned hand to touch her arm. 'Are you sure this isn't too much for you?' Minerva glanced at him.

'It's not the amount of work, but rather, the type, I suppose,' Professor McGonagall said slowly. 'I know they're all irritated with my perfectionism, but really, it's _Hogwarts_, they can't possibly expect me to accept second-best.' Minerva paused and glanced at Dumbledore. 'Truthfully: Am I too finicky?'

'You've never stood for anything less than what you or anyone else is capable of, Minerva, and I certainly wouldn't expect you to change that now,' Dumbledore replied. 'You simply believe, and rightly so, that everyone should perform to the best of their ability, to achieve their full potential. I for one certainly appreciate the complexity of the work you've done for Hogwarts, and what you continue to do. It is not your responsibility to repair the castle, Minerva,' Dumbledore said firmly. 'You are human.'

It was one of those statements that only Albus Dumbledore could make without Minerva tensing up and refusing to listen to. It was true that she accepted only the best of herself, but she did have a tendency to overestimate what her best actually was. Only Dumbledore could remind her that she did have limits, both physically and mentally, without her getting angry.

'Thank you,' she finally said. Their pace had slowed to a lazy, leisurely walk. 'I suppose you are right. Still, I shan't stop now; I've begun this project already. Perhaps, however,' she said slowly, almost hesitantly, as if she were unsure of how to do it, 'perhaps could you take care of the hiring of the Defence teacher? I'll help, certainly,' she hastened to add, 'but-.'

'Minerva,' Dumbledore interrupted steadily, 'I shall take care of the hiring of our remaining open position. In fact,' he added, eyes twinkling, 'I forbid you to help at all.' He watched her, hoping for one of her rare smiles, or, even more scarce, a laugh. Blessedly, he was not disappointed.

Minerva laughed, finally, and she appeared years younger when she did, her pale face suffusing with a pink glow and her eyes shining. 'Thank you, Albus. I truly appreciate it. Don't expect me to skive off any more work, though,' she added sternly, but her teasing countenance contradicting her tone.

They had stopped walking now, and stood face to face. 'Anytime, Minerva,' Dumbledore told her sincerely, with a smile. On an impulse, he pulled her into his arms and embraced her tightly, and, after a moment of stiffening, she hugged him back. They stood like that for a moment, simply taking pleasure in the other's warm arms.

Finally, inevitably, they pulled apart. 'And now,' Dumbledore said with the brightest of smiles, 'to lunch!'

'Um, so, his name is Hagrid?' Trudy questioned, attempting to hide her nervousness as she struggled to keep up with Professor McGonagall's purposeful stride. Minerva seemed to notice that Trudy was half jogging, and consciously slowed her pace, allowing the younger witch to catch up. The sun was still shining, as it had been that morning, but now a few grey clouds had begun to drift across the sky. Trudy wondered where they were going, as Hagrid apparently did not live in the castle.

It had been a lovely tour of the castle; Professor Flitwick, it seemed, was very knowledgeable about hidden doorways and tapestries and such. The first thing he had done was to show her the trick stair in the grand staircase, explaining that it was almost automatic for most of the students to skip it, but that a first-year or two might require assistance. He had also, as if sensing Trudy's curiosity, explained Dumbledore's unfinished story about Minerva's first term as a teacher.

'He offered her a tour, as he did everyone,' Professor Flitwick had said cheerfully, bouncing along beside Trudy. 'Minerva, you have to understand, came to work here only thirteen years after she'd graduated,' a quick calculation had told Trudy that Minerva had been thirty-one; a shockingly young age, 'and she assured Dumbledore that a tour wasn't necessary. But Dumbledore told her that it would be his pleasure. Well,' Flitwick had chuckled, 'apparently, Minerva told Dumbledore that her memory was as good as it had always been, that _she _could remember _important_ things – such as meetings – and that she really did not feel a tour of the school was necessary. She could, she assured him, find her way around and still manage to be on time for essential commitments.' Trudy hadn't understood the humour in the situation until Flitwick reminded her that Dumbledore had in fact been late to meeting Minerva at the gates on her first day. He had ended the story by saying that, according to Slughorn, the staff had burst into amused applause at the end of Minerva's speech and it was then that Minerva was fully accepted into the faculty, despite previous reservations about her age.

Professor Flitwick had then made sure that Trudy knew where all of the main classrooms were, as well as teachers' offices, the staffroom, the House common rooms, and the fastest way to the Great Hall. He had provided a running commentary throughout the excursion, and eventually Trudy didn't even hear the once-shrill squeak in his voice.

Now, however, Professor McGonagall was taking her to see Hagrid, and despite quiet reassurances from the rest of the staff that Hagrid was entirely harmless, and in fact a very kind and caring man, she was still twisting her hands nervously in her robe pockets. Surprisingly, Slughorn's declaration that Hagrid was an excellent drinking partner hadn't made Trudy feel all that better, a fact that did not escape Pomona's notice, who had hit the Potions master over the head with a cushion when he had finished speaking.

'Yes, Rubeus Hagrid,' Professor McGonagall said, answering Trudy's earlier question. 'He's around my age; in fact, he was only three or four years behind me in school.' Trudy didn't know the full story of Hagrid's removal from Hogwarts, only that his name had been cleared a few years ago.

'He's the Gamekeeper, then?' Trudy asked, squinting in the bright sunlight as they made their way down the front lawn.

'Yes, and Care of Magical Creatures teacher,' Professor McGonagall replied shortly. 'Here we are.' Trudy sensed that she had said this quickly so as to avoid any disbelieving questions on Trudy's part about Hagrid's status as a teacher.

'Hagrid!' Minerva called as he emerged from the forest. This was just as well, for her voice had masked Trudy's gasp of astonishment. Hagrid was huge, wider and taller than anyone she's ever met or seen, with massive hands and enormous feet. More than that, however, was his appearance: Hagrid just seemed so _wild_. His bushy hair and beard, the same dark colour as Professor McGonagall's, were rough and uncombed, and he moved with all the grace of a small elephant. However, his ink-black eyes glittered with kindness.

'Professor McGonagall!' Hagrid greeted her cheerfully. 'Professor Dumbledore tol' me you might be comin' down this afternoon.' His hands were covered in dirt, mud, and a strange silvery substance, but he drew a handkerchief the size of a bed sheet from under his colossal moleskin coat and wiped his hands off before offering Trudy a handshake.

'Hagrid, this is Trudy Crawford, our new Muggle Studies teacher. Ms Crawford, this is Hagrid,' Professor McGonagall introduced as they shook hands. Hagrid immense hand completely covered Trudy's small one.

'Hi!' Trudy squeaked, in a voice that might have been mistaken for Professor Flitwick's. She looked up into Hagrid's smudged face and saw his beard twitch in a smile. She felt marginally more comfortable.

'I jus' got a new thestral trained, you wanna come see 'im?' Good feeling gone.

Professor McGonagall smiled ever so slightly. 'Thank you, Hagrid, but I think we ought to limit the – ah – excitement of Ms Crawford's first visit.' Hagrid looked slightly crestfallen, but invited them in for tea. Trudy's voice didn't seem to be working, so Professor McGonagall accepted for her.

'You don't have to eat anything,' she muttered in a low voice as they followed Hagrid into a wooden hut on the edge of the forest. Trudy swallowed and trailed after them, not knowing what to expect on the inside. Dead rats? Bones hanging from the ceiling?

The interior of the hut, however, was surprisingly comfortable. Aside from the fact that nearly everything was five times too big, Trudy found it quite charming. An amount of some strange white-silver hair hung from the wall, and a cauldron hung over an empty fireplace. Trudy climbed into a chair that left her feet hanging two feet off the ground and accepted the bucket-sized cup of tea that Hagrid offered her. He also put a plate of 'me home-made rock cakes' on the table. Trudy noticed that Professor McGonagall didn't touch them, and decided to follow suit.

'Did you see Dumbledore this morning, Hagrid?' Professor McGonagall questioned, adding milk to her hot tea before sipping it. Trudy decided this meant that it was safe to drink. The liquid, though scalding, was actually quite good.

'Yeah, he came down ter me hut this morning. Mentioned that you might stop by this afternoon. Glad for the warnin' though, 'cause I'd planned ter continue searchin' fer that unicorn, an' I didn't want to miss yer visit.'

'Injured unicorn? That doesn't happen very often, does it?' Professor McGonagall asked curiously, taking another sip of tea.

Hagrid seemed very enthused about talking about magical creatures, a fact that Professor McGonagall seemed to know, because she looked almost smug as Hagrid enthusiastically answered her question.

'No, it don't, that's why I'm worried, see. Ain't much that can hurt a unicorn, right, and when they do get injured, it usually isn't bad. But I been seeing a lot o' that blood around, an' that worries me a bit.' Hagrid nodded towards his once silver-stained hands, and Trudy, even with her limited knowledge of magical creatures, realized that it had been unicorn blood.

Trudy tuned out of the conversation, simply taking comfort in the air of companionship that floated around the two old friends. Hagrid's hut was warm and comfortable, and she could even try to ignore his monstrous size. She came back to herself with a start when she heard her name mentioned.

'D'you have any family, Miss?' Hagrid asked, munching on a rock cake. Trudy started.

'My parents live in Surrey, and I have a cousin I'm fairly close to, and he lives up in Sheffield, but other than that, there's no one, really,' Trudy said, feeling slightly put out at Hagrid's appellation of her. Miss? She was fifty-five, after all.

'Sheffield? What does he do there?' Professor McGonagall asked. Trudy was unable to tell if she was just being polite of if she was genuinely curious.

'I think it has to do with ensuring that wizards are properly concealing any magical pets they may have. I know there was a case once where a man had a winged horse out in his front garden, and these muggles saw it. I suppose because most people are fairly distanced from everyone else, they aren't as careful as they should be with magical concealment. So these two muggles, an old married couple, I think it was, thought they were going insane and checked into a hospital and everything before their memories could be modified, it was a real mess.'

The subject of magical creatures and their camouflage lasted them another hour and a half. Finally, though, Professor McGonagall glanced at her watch and shifted her long-since emptied tea cup before addressing Hagrid.

'Thank you very much for the tea, Hagrid. I shall have to come back again soon, and see that hippogriff, what's her name? – Shorttail and her foal. Will you be at dinner?' Professor McGonagall rose and smoothed out her robes.

'Reckon so, M'nerva. Take some o' them rock cakes, if you like,' Hagrid offered, collecting the giant cups. Laden down with rock cakes, Trudy and Professor McGonagall bade Hagrid a good afternoon and set out for the castle, the sun a good deal lower in the sky than it had been. Trudy estimated it to be about four o'clock.

They had almost reached the castle when Madam Pomfrey came out the front doors. 'Minerva, how are you? How was Hagrid?' She nodded politely to Trudy, who dipped her head in return.

'He was fine, Poppy. How about you, where are you going?' Professor McGonagall replied.

'I was just off for a walk, but I think I'll just head back in now. Would the two of you like to stop by my office? You can't have eaten at Hagrid's,' Poppy offered, surprising Trudy out of her silence.

'No, thank you very much, Madam Pomfrey. I really ought to return to my rooms, and, well, dispose of these cakes. I shall see you at dinner, though?' Trudy said politely.

'Yes, of course,' Madam Pomfrey replied. 'And do call me Poppy, dear, if you wish. Minerva,' turning to her, 'are you coming?' Trudy got the sense that Minerva and Poppy were closer than she'd originally thought. It seemed as though there was no one on staff that Professor McGonagall hadn't gone to school with, been taught by, or been teaching alongside for at least twenty years.

'Yes, that's fine,' Minerva decided. 'I've been meaning to talk to you anyway, Poppy. Come along. Trudy, your rooms are on the way, are you coming?' Trudy nodded happily and fell into step beside Poppy as they entered the castle. She bid the two friends a good afternoon, promised to see them at dinner, and entered her own quarters, tired but happy.

TBC

_That was a fair bit longer than the other chapters, I think. :) Please review, and happy reading, as always! _


	4. His Own Fault

_Hello again! I'm very sorry this update took ages, but real life has this annoying habit of getting in the way of my writing. Also, this chapter is a fair bit longer than the others, so hopefully you'll like that. _

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed...to _pennypotter128_, sorry, but Snape is dead. He may be mentioned in the future, but he will never actually physically appear in the story. Sorry about that :)  
Oh, just one other: to _sevy MMAD_, no problem, and thanks for the great review! It's so encouraging to hear things like that. Hope you enjoy the chapter!_

**His Own Fault**

Albus sat at his desk, tired but satisfied, and for more reason than one. The first was that, thankfully, he had received a letter of application for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, and, in writing at least, the man seemed quite competent. His area of focus was mainly magical creatures, rather like Remus Lupin's had been when he had taught here. Albus had arranged an interview with the man the following afternoon.

The second reason Albus was feeling particularly happy was something he didn't quite know how to define; he only knew that it definitely had to do with Minerva. He admitted to himself that after their conversation he had felt lighter, more cheerful, and glad that he could help her. He admired her selflessness, it was one of the qualities he prized in her, one that made her a wonderful Deputy, but he sometimes wished that she undertook fewer tasks. She had lost weight, he thought, and under other circumstances he wouldn't have worried: it was natural for her to go though thin stages when she was coping with something particularly stressful. He would, Albus decided, watch her more carefully over the next little while.

But it was more than that. A friendly conversation with Filius or Horace didn't bring him the same happiness that a simple 'good morning' from Minerva did. He placed more weight and value on her friendship and words than he did on others', and Albus wondered why. She of course gave excellent advice, and was a truly wonderful person, but the same could be said of Pomona Sprout or Poppy Pomfrey. So why did he constantly find himself searching first for her and then for others when he entered a room?

The answer, Albus mused, was probably simple enough. He was closer to her than he was to anyone else on staff. She was dearer to him than he had ever let on, both to her and to himself. It would explain why her anger at him hurt him more than Horace's (although Horace's could never really be taken seriously) or even Filius'.

A trilling note from Fawkes jerked him from his reverie and made him take note of the time. Albus looked fondly at the magnificent bird and gently stroked his head. It was getting late, and he had a few things to take care of in the morning before the interview tomorrow afternoon. He climbed the stairs to his private rooms and readied himself for bed. He hoped there would be no disturbances tonight, both because he was tired and everyone else was tired too.

Albus' thoughts strayed to Ms Crawford's first night here. He had barely made it out into the corridor before Minerva, despite the fact that her chambers were farther away than his. The memory of her tousled hair and her face, worried and tense, half cast in shadow from the light of her wand, made him smile into his pillow. She looked quite good for her age, he thought, even for witches, who don't age as quickly as muggles do.

Albus then thought of her changed Boggart. It had been brave of her to take it on to spare Trudy, but really, had he expected anything less? He was fairly certain that Minerva had most been frightened of her brother's death, and Albus was sure that he would have heard if her brother, Bran, had died. So what had happened to change that? The most obvious solution was that she had been attacked by a dog, possibly while in her Animagus form. But she hadn't been seriously injured in the past several years, of that Albus was sure, and was a dog attack really more frightening than the murder of her dear brother?

Albus would simply have to ask her if he cared so much about it. He didn't want to pry, but as her friend, he was allowed to ask questions, and perhaps he could help. One thing he had learned about Minerva was that she rarely asked for aid, even if she had need of it.

His last decisive thought was that he ought to make sure Minerva didn't overexert herself in the coming days. She didn't need anyone to look after her, especially him; what shocked Albus was that he rather wanted to.

Minerva was awoken in the morning by the sunlight that streamed in through the window. Rather than getting out of bed and preparing for the day, as was her custom, she lay in bed for a while to think.

Minerva had never spent an entire summer at Hogwarts, not in all of her forty-plus years working as a teacher. The usual custom was that the staff remained about a week after the students had gone home, sometimes less, to tie up loose ends, record marks, file reports, that sort of thing. As deputy, Minerva was usually one of the last to vacate the castle, excluding Mr Filch, who stayed all year round. Dumbledore, being headmaster, was also usually one of the last few to leave as well, although Minerva had no idea where he went during the summer. However, this did usually mean that the two of them had a few days alone together before the summer separation. If she was being honest with herself, Minerva knew that she enjoyed those few days very much.

This year, however, given the 'state of things' (that was how Albus had put it to her, which she interpreted to mean the fact that the castle was falling apart and none of the teachers had actually got much teaching done during the year that Severus was headmaster), few teachers had actually had left. To her own surprise (and annoyance), Minerva found herself missing those few days more than she'd anticipated. The break in routine that she'd followed for those forty years had been quite the shock to her system. She knew that she'd lost weight and ate less; then she wondered if Albus had noticed.

She sighed in irritation and rolled onto her side. It didn't matter if Albus noticed or not; she was a mature witch who could take care of herself. Even if he had detected it, well, that simply meant that he was looking out for her, as her friend. That was why she missed her time with him, Minerva reasoned, it simply because they were close friends who were used to spending some of their summer together together.

Tired of going in circles, Minerva finally slid out of bed, irritated with herself for wasting so much time. There was no use regretting the loss of her time with Albus because there was nothing she could do about it. She was being selfish and possessive; she had no hold over Albus and it would be foolish to pretend otherwise. She put all thoughts of Albus out of her head.

'You look lovely, dearie,' wheezed a withered female voice, drawing Minerva's attention back to the present. She'd unconsciously put on a set of navy summer robes, ones she didn't often wear, and never during the school year. They were light and airy, drawn in slightly at the waist and with a small flare near the bottom. Minerva brushed her hair and drew it up in loose French twist, ignoring the enchanted mirror, who continued to gasp its approval. Minerva detested enchanted mirrors, but she'd never actually bothered to switch it. She simply ignored it, but this didn't stop her recognizing truth in the mirror's statement. Her dark hair _did _look nice looser.

Still more irritated with herself for wasting even more time on pointless frivolities, Minerva set off for breakfast in the staffroom at brisk pace, her heels clicking reassuringly against the floor. She was one of the last to arrive, which left her with three options of where to sit: in between Horace and Filch, at the end next to Hagrid, who always took the foot of the table, as he needed the room, and to the left of the chair at the head of the table. It wasn't exactly against the rules to sit at the head, but no one really felt comfortable there, as it was generally accepted as Dumbledore's. Minerva took the seat next to Albus' empty chair and accepted the pot of tea from Pomona, beside whom she was sitting.

Pomona raised her eyes at Minerva's robes but said nothing about them, instead suggesting a Hogsmeade trip that afternoon. 'It's been a while since I've been to the village, and I'd planned to go today in any case. Do you want to come?' At this moment, Dumbledore entered the room and the seat on the other side of Minerva, who glanced quickly in his direction by way of greeting. He smiled at her, but she did not notice. Pomona prodded her for an answer.

Minerva's hesitation was evident, and Pomona, always quick to press her advantage, hurried on: 'The day is lovely, Minerva, and nothing would be lost in spending an afternoon enjoying yourself. Quite the contrary; I think it would be beneficial for you – erm, us – to go. Paperwork will not vanish from one day to the next, and I do believe that you need a vacation, so to speak, from the school. You work entirely too hard, always refusing to engage in anything remotely enjoyable. It would be good for you – from a medical perspective, even.' She looked pointedly at Minerva's as-of-yet empty plate.

Before Minerva could speak, Poppy added 'As a matron, I can assure you that Pomona is correct. We could all benefit from a brief respite, I do believe, not only you, although you certainly could use it more than the rest of us. I agree with Pomona: this summer may require more exertion than usual, but that certainly does not mean that you must work constantly. In fact –.'

'If I may get a word in edgewise,' Minerva interrupted coldly. 'I'd actually intended to ask you and perhaps Poppy to accompany me to the village this afternoon, but you obviously beat me to it. I am glad, however, that we could all share this – _lovely_ – conversation revolving around the various health benefits of this venture. I of course detest everything but work. I am obviously incapable of taking care of myself, despite having done it for the majority of my life. I most definitely required persuasion. At the moment, however,' Minerva continued, her voice shaking slightly and heavy with sarcasm, 'I'm afraid I don't find myself much in the mood for a Hogsmeade visit – perhaps tomorrow. I shall see you both at lunch.' Standing, her hands trembling and not looking at anyone, she stalked from the room.

There was silence at the table. No one moved for a moment, as if Minerva's anger pinned them in their seats. Then, very softly and quietly, Pomona swore. She put down her knife and fork, picked her napkin up off her lap, gently headed for the door, and left – but not in the same direction as its last user. Poppy sat still for a moment after she had gone, then quietly recommenced eating. The heavy silence endured for the rest of the meal.

Minerva swept blindly into her rooms, rage robbing her of her vision. She moved as if in no control of her actions, every particle of her mind focused on attempting to calm herself. She stalked back and forth, back and forth, trying to pin her thoughts down and line them up, but they flew around her head in a mindless hurricane. Intangible feelings dominated her mind more than words, but the sentiments were easily translated: fury; betrayal; disgrace; _shame. _

Minerva sank onto the couch, eyes pressed tightly shut. _Think,_ she ordered herself. _Address each issue one at a time. _She took a deep breath with the intention of calming herself, but the bright afternoon sun distracted her as it penetrated her eyelids. The silence somehow seemed too loud, but every shift and adjustment she made rustled loudly. Minerva pulled the tartan afghan off the back of the couch, lay down with her head on a cushion, and pulled the blanket over her head.

She was angry. That was a start. She was angry because Pomona and Poppy, her two closest female friends, had hurt her, insulted her, and shamed her. She angry because the things they said had not all been true. Minerva may have been rather stricter than others, but that did not mean she was entirely incapable of any sort of entertainment. How could they not recognize her passion? She was furious because she had taken care of herself for all of her life. True, her brothers had looked after her after their parents were killed, but they let her make her own decisions, rule her own life. Taking responsibility of her actions and decisions was what gave Minerva her identity. She had been and would always be, an independent person; no one could change that.

Next, Minerva addressed betrayal. She knew the feeling was there, but this one was harder to define. Perhaps because it had been Poppy and Pomona that had said it: they, her friends, who knew her better than anyone (except perhaps Dumbledore). They were aware of who much she prized her independence, her passionate self-sufficiency. They knew her not to be a stiff, unfeeling stick, but a strong woman with morals and integrity. How could they question that, in front of everyone?

That tied into the next feelings. These she understood, but cringed from them like Devil's Snare from sunlight. Humiliated: that was how she had felt. Minerva had never much cared what other people thought; never let others' words mean more than she wanted them to. But for Crawford, the new teacher, and Albus, _Albus, _to have heard her autonomy and passion questioned, her ability to take care of herself doubted, and her status as woman of common-sense cast aside, caused her such shame that she groaned beneath her tartan fortress.

Her carriage clock on the mantle chimed nine, and some distant corner in Minerva's mind knew she was late for Magical Maintenance, but deeper instincts told her that she wouldn't be able to work until she sorted this out, made peace with herself. 'Right_,_'she said aloud, the steadiness of her voice both surprising and reassuring her. 'What's happened is done. What I can control now is what happens next. Poppy and Pomona must apologize, and I must explain to them my reasons.' This, Minerva thought, was reasonable. 'Ms Crawford will have to realize that I will not be taken care of, and as such, have a right to become angry at attempts to do so. And Albus,' she hesitated, then ploughed on, 'Albus will come to me, I am sure, and I will tell him why I behaved such as I did.'

Finally, Minerva rose from the couch, folded the afghan, and left for the grounds. She met no one on her way, something she was grateful for. She scolded herself for her cowardice, but could not feel much regret.

Professor McGonagall opened the front doors and swept out onto the lawn. Smye looked up as she approached.

'You're late,' he told her, clearly wanting the chance to admonish her as she did him. Minerva met his gaze calmly.

'I apologize,' she replied, offering no explanation. She smiled inwardly at his look of surprise, then at his humbled expression. He seemed more comfortable, and he spoke with enthusiasm.

'Then, let's get to it. What were you saying about the semi-spherical ceiling?'

Dumbledore surveyed his interlocked fingers. His interview with the applicant was scheduled to commence in fifteen minutes, so he had until then to sort himself out. Assuming, of course, that the man was punctual, which Albus hoped he was: he understood the value of a good first impression.

Minerva had not been at lunch when he had made his way down to the staffroom half an hour ago. He had been eager to see her, impatiently waiting to tell her that he understood her reaction to the barrage she'd endured this morning. True, Poppy and Pomona hadn't intended to insult her, but Albus had heard it through Minerva's ears and wondered again why they tried to pretend Minerva was something she was not. Minerva's parents had been killed when she was seventeen, and since then she had always been on her own. He knew that Minerva had been watched over by Bran, who was seven years older than she, but still, she had been allowed her freedom. She had never been told how to take care of herself since her orphaning, nor did she need to be told. Albus felt slightly ill at the thought that he himself had wanted to do so.

Minerva's absence at lunch was, upon reflection, not entirely surprising. Hagrid had ambled in from his hut and sat at the foot of the table, mentioning that he had seen 'Professor McGonagall down on the lawn with the crew o' Magical Maintenance workers when I was comin' up from me hut. Looked as though she'd already eaten a bit with them, an' they looked as though they migh' keep working.'

'Thank you, Hagrid,' Dumbledore had said to quell any further talk behind Minerva's back, and the conversation had ended there. Still, he knew that she would feel as though she needed to give him an explanation for the morning, and had been hasty to assure her that it was unnecessary. Now he would have to wait until dinner.

A knock interrupted Albus' thoughts. He opened the door with a flick of his fingers and stood to meet the next DADA professor: hopefully the one to the last more than one year.

A tall man with dark brown hair streaked with grey walked into the room. He had light brown eyes and looked to be in his late seventies. He wore robes of dark grey, casual but still nice. He smiled cordially and stretched out his hand to shake Dumbledore's proffered one.

'It's an honour to meet you, Professor Dumbledore,' he said, taking the seat Albus indicated.

'The same to you, Mr McKinley,' Albus replied warmly, subtly glancing at the clock. He was right on time. So far, so good, Albus thought. 'Tell me more about your work.'

Mr McKinley outlined his private job as a wizard who did the proper concealment charms on magical pets for others who couldn't do perform the spells themselves. 'I'm licensed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I have around forty clients and I perform the necessary charms on a biannual basis. I also have my own business: House-Pest Control. I usually deal with minor cases like fire salamanders and the like, but occasionally something really serious comes up. In those cases, I usually use a variety of different spells that I believe are in the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum.'

Albus nodded. He'd already checked the man's businesses; they were quite successful. 'What sort of serious infestations have you dealt with?'

'Well,' Mr McKinley began, 'one of the worst I can remember was a house just west of Bradfield that had a serious infestation of Bundimuns, the creatures that rot away the foundations of a building. It took me a full two and half weeks to locate all the nests and creatures; I used several complicated detection and finding spells. I did recommend that the family hire someone to repair the house while they seek other lodgement, because the whole building was on the verge on collapse.'

Albus nodded again. Bundimuns caused severe damage in houses if left undetected for too long, and an infestation of that degree could be very difficult to remove. He was impressed.

As the interview progressed, it became clear that there was really no need for it. Mr McKinley was a competent wizard who liked children and enjoyed teaching. He also accepted a minimum two-year contract. Albus spent the remainder of the scheduled hour plus another thirty minutes discussing the various advantages of keeping magical creatures and the controversy of what classified a creature as a 'beast'.

Finally, a glance at his watch told Albus that they'd overrun. 'Well, Mr McKinley, I am pleased to welcome you to Hogwarts – although I daresay you already knew?' Albus said with a smile. McKinley returned the smile.

'Thank you very much, Headmaster. It is an honour to work here.' Dumbledore nodded; he liked this man. He decided that he could meet the staff now, and move into the castle later, and he told McKinley as much.

'That sounds wonderful, thank you,' McKinley replied, and they exited the office and made their way to the staff room, where Dumbledore knew the staff usually gathered around this time for a light tea.

'Now,' Dumbledore began as they swept along the corridors, 'I do not know whether my Deputy, Professor McGonagall, will be present – she's working on repairing the castle – but everyone else should be there.' McKinley did a slight double-take.

'Professor McGonagall?' he repeated, looking surprised.

'Yes, Minerva McGonagall. She teaches Transfiguration,' Dumbledore replied, wondering if this man knew her, or knew of her. Before he could ask, however, they arrived, and went inside the staffroom.

The room was, as Albus had predicted, full, but they all turned around at the sound of the door opening. Poppy and Pomona, Albus noticed, had been deep in discussion, presumably about Minerva. However, his attention was diverted.

'Trudy?' Mr McKinley very nearly shouted, and Ms Crawford bounded across the room in shock.

'Cousin!' Trudy shouted, enveloping the new teacher in a hug. 'What are you doing here?'

'Professor Dumbledore just hired me, I'm teaching Defence – what are _you _doing here?' McKinley replied, looking surprised but happy.

'Teaching Muggle Studies – you didn't tell me you'd applied!' Trudy replied, stepping back as if to get a better look at her apparent cousin.

'Neither did you! Congratulations, Tru! We'll be working together,' McKinley replied.

'May I take it, then, that the two of you are cousins?' Dumbledore asked, interested. Now that he looked, there was a slight family resemblance. They both nodded in confirmation. Suddenly, the door opened again.

Minerva stood in the doorway, and Albus immediately felt a rush of relief. It had only been a few hours since he'd last seen her, but it felt like days. He opened his mouth to speak, but Minerva beat him to it.

'C – Connor McKinley?' she said, stunned. She was staring at Mr McKinley, who smiled at her.

'Hello, Minerva,' he replied. 'It's nice to see you.' Minerva appeared near speechless, an event so rare no one really knew what to do.

'I – what are you – you're teaching Defence?' Minerva finally managed feebly, not at all her usual tone of voice.

'Mmhm,' was the cheerful reply. Minerva still looked stunned. Thankfully, Trudy saved the awkward moment.

'How'd you like a tour, Connor?' she asked, dragging her cousin out the door. They heard his consent as their footsteps echoed down the corridor. Minerva sank onto a couch and was immediately crowded by her friends, who seemed to forget the morning's argument.

'How do you know him?' Pomona asked, handing Minerva a cup of tea. Minerva looked up at Albus, who smiled at her, but the smile felt forced. He dreaded what was coming, for reasons he couldn't explain.

Sure enough: 'I, um…we were…involved, romantically…for a time,' Minerva finally responded. The silence resonated throughout the room. Then;

'He's your ex-beau?' cried Poppy, and the room erupted. Dumbledore quietly took a seat with a cup of tea, wondering how in Merlin's name he got himself into these situations.

TBC

_Don't forget to review, please! :D_


	5. Family Ties and Other Drama

_Hey everyone, me again! So sorry for the long wait; real life again! Don't you hate it when it gets in the way like that? :P Before we begin, I have a few little things to say..._

Thanks SO much to everyone for all the wonderful reviews, it's all of you that keep this story going. They all mean a lot to me, and I wish I could reply to them all, but I'm a little pressed for time so I just can't.

HOWEVER, thanks in particular to the long review of **Joanna**_: _your review was a writer's dream. I'm glad that you enjoy the pace of the story, because I was (and am) a bit worried that I'm going too slow for all the MMAD fans reading this. I'm glad you like Trudy, and as for Connor, I'm afraid that it's just one of those weird coincidences in life (and fanfics) that he happens to be both Trudy's cousin and Minerva's ex. However, he does have a bit of a drama role to play, and I think you'll be liking him a bit less in future. Oops. Lastly, I shall tell you that it is mostly the romance that's the plot, but we do have a few little sub-plots happening - hopefully one will be explained and then continued in this chapter and others. Oh, I will try your suggestion of waiting until I have a few chapters, but honestly, I'm utterly bogged down as it it. :P Anyways, thanks a heap!

And now, onwards!

**Family Ties and Other Drama**

Minerva, eating next to Albus, could not quite believe her day. As she pushed tonight's dinner (a steaming cottage pie) around her plate, she considered the chances of Albus hiring the man from one of the most serious relationships of her past.

Because they really had been serious, and they'd been together for almost three years. Minerva didn't believe in true love or any of that nonsense, but Connor had been a friend of her brother's friend, and they'd met when she was twenty-seven. He'd been twenty-nine at the time, but that was alright because Minerva preferred older men anyway. She was attracted to maturity, and older men seemed to fit the bill, so to speak.

What had broken them up had been Minerva's independence. Connor had wanted to have children; a family; a stable job. Minerva was fine with the idea of having children, but she wanted her own career as well. She'd been elbow-deep in her Transfiguration research at the time, and Connor had as good as suggested that she give it up, stay home and look after their future children – after, of course, they got married. Minerva had insisted that she wanted to be able to support herself, which had led to Connor inferring that she thought he was going to leave her. He accused Minerva of not trusting him, and they'd had one of the biggest fights of their relationship.

It was a few days before they were both calm enough to see each other again. Connor had wanted to give it another try, but Minerva had gently let him down and returned to her work. They saw each other in passing a few times over the next couple of decades, but today had been the first time Minerva had seen Connor face-to-face for over two years. Now they would be working together.

All of this piled on top of what had happened this morning – Minerva still hadn't forgotten what Poppy and Pomona had said – and the result was a witch who wasn't particularly hungry. Minerva excused herself from the table and walked slowly toward her rooms.

'Minerva?' She turned around, irritated, ready to tell the person that she wanted to be alone. Then she caught sight of Albus, and her annoyance evaporated.

'Albus,' she said, profoundly relieved. She automatically felt better when he smiled at her, forgetting her exhaustion and irritation and feeling only happiness.

Dumbledore seemed to notice her relief, and appeared cheered by it. 'I was going to offer you a cup of tea, Minerva, but if you're tired…' Dumbledore offered. 'You have had an exciting day.'

Minerva refrained from rolling her eyes as he fell in step next to her. ''Exciting' is not exactly how I'd put it,' she smiled. 'But if the offer's still open, I should love a cup of tea,' she said. Dumbledore looked genuinely happy.

'Of course it is, Minerva! Come along, I have some lovely chamomile tea I think you'll like,' he said. Minerva followed him to his rooms.

After handing her a cup of tea, Dumbledore sat down next to her. He turned to look at her. 'Is there something you'd like to talk about, my dear?' he asked. The concern in his eyes made Minerva feel annoyingly sentimental.

She sighed. 'I ought to have explained to you this afternoon, Albus, about this morning. I just didn't particularly feel like seeing Pomona or Poppy after, well, this morning, and –.'

Dumbledore held up his hands to stop her. 'Minerva, please. You have nothing to answer for. I can assure you I completely understand how you must have felt this morning, and may I say I feel you were justified in your response. You are under no obligation whatsoever to explain how you felt – unless, of course, you wish to share that with me, in which case I shall listen gladly. But please, Minerva, you mustn't feel as though you acted wrongly.' Dumbledore sighed. 'I fear I must apologize to you, my dear. I had no idea the man I was hiring had any sort of connection to. I suppose I ought to have asked you first. It was simply that I wished to undertake that task alone, reluctant as I was to add to your work pile. And once I realized what sort of a, well, history you two have, it was too late to do anything. You may of course be pleased he has come to work here,' Albus continued, rather disliking the words coming out of his mouth, 'but in any case, I do apologize.'

Minerva was shaking her head by the time Albus finished speaking. 'Don't be ridiculous, Albus. I do thank you for your understanding of this morning's fiasco, but as to Connor's hiring, well, really, how could you have known? And I certainly wouldn't have expected you to turn him away simply because I happened to have, um, paid court with him a while ago. From an objective point of view, he is certainly an excellent candidate.'

It was at this moment that an odd thing happened to Minerva. While she usually found it easy to talk to Albus about anything, she suddenly found that Connor McKinley was not a subject she much wanted to discuss with him. She barely heard his thanks and assurance that he wouldn't have entertained a notion of dismissing Connor simply because of her past with him. With a fervour that surprised her, Minerva suddenly wished that Albus _wanted _to remove Connor, and that he would tell her so. She did not actually want Albus to send Connor away, because she expected more of him, but she suddenly rather wanted Albus to say that he wanted Connor gone. It was such an absurd, unfamiliar thought that she didn't hear Albus until he touched her shoulder gently.

'Minerva? Are you alright?' Albus was holding her arm and looking concerned.

'What?' Minerva said, jerking out of her reverie. Usually the impassive, outwardly cool one, it came as surprise to Albus to see Minerva colour slightly and avoid his gaze. She shifted uncomfortably, and noticed Albus suddenly appear self-conscious of his hand on her arm. Was that what was making her uncomfortable? It never had before.

Minerva was so startled when Albus brought her attention back to the present that she blushed, almost afraid that he could hear what she was thinking. 'I…I'm sorry, I just…I wasn't paying attention, my thoughts just wandered for a moment, I…what were – what were you saying?' Minerva couldn't believe her own ears. Was this rubbish really coming out of her mouth? What on earth was wrong with her? She jumped to her feet, not at all with her usual grace.

'I'm sorry, I'm just – just tired. I should go, thank you for the tea, Albus. I, um, I shall you tomorrow.' Without waiting for an answer, Minerva hurried from the room. She rushed down the spiral staircase and through the corridors, finally reaching her own chambers, where she collapsed on her bed. She thumped her head into her pillow, rather wishing she do the same to a brick wall. Was she going insane?

Albus doubted he had ever been this confused in all of his life. One moment, he had been having a lovely conversation with Minerva, telling her what he'd been trying to all day, and the next, she was blushing and stuttering and had fled his rooms after a very hasty good-bye.

Perhaps he had made her uncomfortable with all of his talk about Connor. He supposed Minerva would be feeling awkward with the whole situation. He didn't know any details of their relationship, and judging from this last encounter, he wasn't going to get any more information.

He still could not fathom why she had blushed as she did. Minerva was rarely impressed by any sort of pathetic romantic advances, rarely flattered by empty compliments. She had had enough of them during her youth, being the tall, elegant witch that she was. So why would she have coloured for no apparent reason? Albus mentally went through the whole scene again, but still could find no reason for it. Possibly she was thinking about Connor and jumped when Albus had brought her back to the present, embarrassed for thinking such thoughts? But no, that couldn't be right. Minerva had been utterly shocked at Connor's appearance, and then seemingly reluctant to tell the staff of the history between them.

But then, Minerva hadn't refuted Albus' statement when he had suggested that she may be pleased McKinley had come to work here. She had said that he was – how had she put it? 'From an objective point of view, he is certainly an excellent candidate.' But _was _it objective? Certainly, McKinley was very skilled at dealing with magical creatures and various defensive spells, but was he really an 'excellent' teacher, as Minerva had put it? Perhaps she was inclined to think so because Connor had been her lover at one time. Was it possible that she was still attracted to him?

Well, Albus was happy for Minerva in any case. If she was having another chance at love, then he was happy for her. She certainly deserved it, this most precious of gifts. Love truly was the greatest gift of all, as he himself had told Harry just a few months ago. And Minerva, well, she was someone with a great capacity to love, and he was just grateful for her friendship.

To Dumbledore's surprise, there was a knock at the door. He stood and waved his wand, opening it. There in the doorway stood a man Albus recognized immediately, even though they'd never officially met. A smile broke out across his face as he welcomed the man inside with warm handshake. Given this unexpected but wonderful turn of events, Albus stayed up that night much later than usual, thankful for the chance to bring happiness to his friend.

'Are you working this morning?' Poppy asked Minerva as they ate breakfast in the staffroom. Though she felt bad for Minerva for having to deal with this situation with Connor, she was glad in a way because Minerva seemed to have momentarily forgotten her anger at Pomona and Poppy from the previous morning. That wasn't to say that they weren't intending to apologize… just not right now.

'I thought so,' Minerva replied. 'Most likely just for the morning.' She blew lightly on a spoonful of porridge before swallowing it down. She'd been later to breakfast than usual, slightly wary of seeing Albus after her behaviour of last night, but when she'd arrived he hadn't even been present.

'I see,' Poppy replied, adding milk to her tea. 'How are the repairs coming along?'

'Slowly,' Minerva answered. 'The workers are doing their best, but it's hard, I suppose, to prepare for rebuilding a thousand-year-old castle. It's not something you can practice.'

'I understand,' Pomona put in, leaning slightly across the table. 'I know that it's difficult, as it's their first time and all, but still, it isn't as though the principles have changed.'

Minerva nodded her agreement. 'That's what I told Mr Smye the other day. They seem irritated with how picky I'm being.'

'That's really not fair,' Poppy replied. 'It's Hogwarts, they can't expect you to accept mistakes.'

'That's what I said,' Minerva replied, smiling slightly. They may have their ups and downs, but there _was _a reason they'd been friends all these years.

Spontaneously, Pomona reached across the table and grasped Minerva's hand. 'Minerva, I am so sorry about what I said yesterday. It was very much out of line, and inappropriate of me, and I really shouldn't have said anything. I just worry about you, however much I know that I needn't. I've always just believed that friends take care of each other, and I try to abide by that. I know now that what I said was past taking care of you and was actually insulting and interfering. Can you forgive me and my foolishness?' Pomona asked earnestly.

Poppy swallowed and spoke before Minerva could answer. 'I feel terrible, Minerva. I shouldn't have sided against you. I just care about you and want you to enjoy your life and feel good while you do it. I didn't intend to insult you, I swear. Minerva, I really am sorry. Forgive me?'

Minerva felt tears brimming in her eyes at their wonderful apologies. This was so much better than anything she could have envisioned. 'Of course, Pomona, Poppy. I forgive you both for what you said and how you said it. Beyond that, there is nothing else to pardon.' Minerva smiled, and the three witches blew their noses thickly.

This done, Pomona leaned forwards excitedly. 'We have so much to discuss, Minerva. I still cannot believe what happened yesterday. Why don't we have dinner tonight?' Poppy nodded enthusiastically. Minerva felt some measure of excitement. For some reason, she didn't mind talking about Connor with Poppy and Pomona the way she had with Albus.

It was nearing the end of breakfast when the door opened. Everyone looked up at Dumbledore, who stood in the doorway with a mischievous grin on his face, his eyes sparkling. He looked at Minerva, who felt her spirits lift even more as she returned the smile. It was good to see him looking so happy. She'd missed that.

'Good-morning, everyone,' Dumbledore said cheerfully. 'I am very sorry for my tardiness. I do, however, have an announcement.' He grinned, if possible, even more widely. 'We have a guest.' He stepped aside and revealed a man with a scar on his forehead standing behind him. There was a moment of silence, then;

'Bran!' Minerva shrieked. She flew across the room and landed in the man's arms, her own around his neck, who hugged so tightly she was lifted momentarily off her feet. It was her brother.

'Minerva,' the black-haired wizard breathed, rocking his sister slightly. She buried her face in his chest in a most un-Minerva-like manner. 'Minerva.'

Minerva, whose arms were wrapped around the tall wizard tightly, looked up into her brother's sharp eyes, identical to her own. They'd always looked very similar, despite the fact that he was seven years her senior. The last time Minerva had seen him, he'd been leaving on a mandatory trip to Switzerland for his work restoring ancient magical architecture. He'd wanted her to go with him, worried about her safety as a Hogwarts teacher who'd been so close to, as he'd put it, 'what Death Eaters called 'that muggle-loving fool, Albus Dumbledore', Minerva' (during his supposed death). She'd refused, and he'd been worried, but had expected nothing less of her. Now he was here.

Minerva's gaze switched from Bran's face to Albus'. 'Albus, thank you so much. I really appreciate it. It means a lot to me,' she told him. He smiled.

'Don't mention it, Minerva,' Dumbledore replied. 'Actually, it was rather a surprise to me too,' he chuckled. He glanced between the two of them. 'Take the day off, Minerva,' he said, eyes twinkling. 'That's an order.' Minerva actually laughed.

'Thank you, Albus,' she told him. Before she left with Bran, she turned around and called back to Poppy and Pomona. 'Dinner, right?' she called, with a raised eyebrow. They both nodded and waved her away. Minerva and Bran quickly left the room.

Bran glanced at his sister. 'Fancy a walk?' he asked, nodding his head to the nearest window, where sunlight streamed in onto the floor. Minerva nodded.

They strode lazily outside, reaching the lake and turning to walk along the edge. 'Minerva, how are you, really?' Bran asked, gently touching his sister's arm. 'Alive, obviously. That's all I'm grateful for.'

'I'm perfectly fine, Bran,' Minerva said, adjusting her ponytail. 'I'm alive, yes, and healthy. But really, I want to hear about you. What have you been doing? You weren't in Switzerland for the past three years, were you?' she asked.

'No,' Bran replied. 'But you knew that. I did my best to fight in the war, Minerva, but the ministry didn't have much use for an old wizard with a talent for restoring ancient rocks.' Minerva elbowed him.

'Don't make me laugh. 'Ancient rocks', indeed. I happen to know that you helped a muggle-born woman and her family, what was it? – the Cattermoles, escape abroad last year. I take it that's why you didn't send me an owl?'

Bran shook his head in amusement. 'How in Merlin's name did you find that out?' he asked. 'Yes, sending an owl would have given away our position. I look after them for a few weeks until they were well hidden and settled, and then I moved on to another family. 'Bout six in all, I think.'

Minerva nodded. 'Well, I think that's wonderful, Bran. You were careful, though, right?'

Bran laughed. 'I was abroad, while you were here, stuck inside a castle controlled by You-Know-Who, with three Death Eaters for teachers, held the final siege here, and you were worried about me?' he asked. Minerva rolled eyes. 'But yes, Min, I was careful.'

'Good,' she said. Bran pushed her playfully on her arm and she stumbled, swatting his arm.

'Enough about me, then. What about you? Tell me something new, Minerva. I don't want to talk about last year,' Bran told her.

'Well,' Minerva hedged, 'Albus hired two new teachers. Trudy Crawford, for Muggle Studies, and Connor McKinley, her cousin, for Defence.' She said the last bit quickly, as if hoping he wouldn't hear it. No such luck.

'Connor McKinley?' Bran repeated, a slight frown creasing his brow. 'I know that name. Hang on – isn't he the bloke you dated for three years, like, ages ago? The one with his own business?' He studied his sister's face carefully, watched as she scowled.

'Yes,' she muttered unwillingly. 'Only candidate, and probably a good one.' Bran was silent for a moment, then he burst out laughing.

'Well, you certainly have your work cut out for you, little Min.' Minerva elbowed him; she hated when he called her that. 'Your old lover for a teacher, and Dumbledore hiring him, no less. And did you say he was Crawford's cousin?'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Minerva said sharply. 'Yes, Albus hired him. What does that have to do with anything?' Bran raised his eyebrows.

'Nothing, Minerva. I just thought that Dumbledore probably doesn't like the situation much.' Minerva frowned.

'Why wouldn't he? I agree it's awkward, but not unmanageable,' she argued.

'Well, Min, don't get upset or anything, but I just sort of figured that the fact that the man he hired was the man who courted you wouldn't be…preferable for him. He probably feels…disgruntled.' Minerva opened her mouth, but he cut her off. This was usually a touchy subject. 'I'm not implying anything, little sister. Just saying that Dumbledore may not want to have to…split the time he has with you, if he thinks you may be interested in this McKinley character.'

Minerva was silent for a moment before she spoke. 'I don't see why it should matter,' she finally said. 'Not to Albus, anyway.' She hesitated, then shook her head. 'It doesn't matter either way. So tell me, what did you do in Switzerland?' Bran sighed inwardly. Dear Minerva had a bad time of it. He said nothing for a moment.

'I already told you, Min, I don't want to talk about myself,' he replied with a smile. 'Tell me something about you. I feel as though I haven't talked to you in ages.'

'Well,' Minerva replied, 'let me see…' She trailed off. 'Alright then: Trudy Crawford's first night here, staying in Charity's old rooms.' Bran raised an eyebrow that, if Dumbledore had been present, he would have called 'the McGonagall brow'. Minerva had the exact same expression.

'It was late, almost early, I suppose, and there was this scream from outside my door. Albus was there when I got to the corridor, and then Pomona and Filius. We were about to split up and search the castle when there was another scream, the same woman. I started running in that direction,' Minerva continued, 'and ended up in our new teacher's room.'

'Oh?' said Bran. He sensed an undertone of seriousness in Minerva's light manner.

'Yes,' she replied. 'We arrived in time to see her face off with a massive snake ten feet high.' She paused, but didn't allow enough time for Bran to speak. 'It was, of course, a Boggart. The only way to have gotten rid of it was to take it on myself.'

Now he understood. Years ago, in the sixties, Bran and Minerva had been staying together in the summer for a couple of weeks, in Rome where Bran was working. Minerva had gone outside for a walk while he made lunch. When he'd come outside to get her, he'd found her just in time to see her about to be mauled by a giant dog the size of a Hippogriff (or at least, that's what he remembered). The thing had taken a hold of Minerva's arm, but that was as far as it got before Bran aimed a Stunning spell at it. Apparently, it was going to take more than that, because it turned on Bran and attacked him instead. Bran could still feel hot bleed seeping down from his forehead from where the dog's teeth had raked his scalp, streaming over his eyes and blinding him.

Minerva never told him how she had gotten rid of it; he had collapsed unconscious before the attack was over and had woken up in some foreign magical hospital a few hours later. He'd spent six days bed-ridden, then fourteen more with a cane and a limp before he could get around properly. Minerva had had a splint on her arm and shoulder for two weeks. It had been a terrible experience, and he had always suspected that it had affected Minerva as deeply as it had affected him; here was proof that it had.

Bran said nothing, but put his arms around her. Minerva gently touched the scar on her brother's forehead, and wondered if he knew that the reason that she was so terrified of the dog was because it had hurt him.

TBC

**A/N: **_There's chapter five for you! Now, I checked the stats, and the number of reviews is waaaay below the number of people who have read this fic. I don't want to be pushy, but a simple 'great' or 'it sucked, loser' _IS _technically a review, and it takes five seconds. Chapter six is coming up, but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review! Thanks, hope you enjoyed!_


	6. Observations and Unwelcome Thoughts

_First off, I want to thank everyone for the fantastic reviews! You all inspired me to start this chapter right away. I have time for individual answers this time, yay! So check the bottom of the chapter and find your name! :P_

_Without further ado…_

**Observations and Unwelcome Thoughts**

'Good afternoon, Minerva,' said a pleasant voice, and Minerva set down the parchment she was holding and turned to see her visitor. The afternoon was warm, and Smye and his crew were several feet away, pointing at the north side of the castle and comparing it to their blueprints.

It was Connor. Minerva felt a flash of emotion but didn't stop to analyse what it was. 'Good afternoon,' she replied briskly, turning back to the table. Connor stepped up to the other side of the table and glanced at her blueprints. Minerva stifled the urge to hide them from his view.

'Do you work out here every afternoon?' Connor asked amicably, smiling.

'Mornings,' Minerva replied, not looking up. 'As long as it's not raining.' Connor chuckled.

'It looks like a large job,' he commented, shifting a stack of paper, apparently impressed.

'It is,' Minerva said shortly, concentrating as she scratched away with her quill, wondering about what he wanted.

'I was hoping, Minerva,' Connor finally said, 'if when you were done, perhaps you would care for a walk? I have some questions – well, concerns, really – and I would very much appreciate it if you could help. I'm a bit nervous about working here.'

Minerva finally looked up. She was suspicious at first: there were plenty of other teachers that could help, why would he ask her? But as she looked into his smiling, worried face, she relented. She _was _the only one that knew him well and could answer any questions. She sighed.

'Of course. If you wait ten minutes, I will be done,' Minerva said crisply. Connor beamed.

'Thank you, Minerva! I thought we could go for a walk around the lake, seeing as the weather is so lovely.' Connor smiled again and added, 'Although I know you generally prefer clouds to blistering heat.'

Connor ambled away to wait for Minerva while she packed up. She filed everything away, thinking. Connor's knowledge of Minerva's preferred weather and been, she thought, a clear implication that he still remembered everything about her from their time together. He still knew her, knew what she liked and what she hated, what really made her furious and exactly what calmed her down. It also made her uncomfortable to realize how much she still knew about him.

But Minerva had changed since they'd broken up. She wasn't the same as she had been during their courtship. From the looks of things, Connor was much the same, but Minerva had altered, hadn't she? Her principles and fundamentals were the same, but now, at seventy-three, she was very different from her twenty-seven year-old self.

And there were other people who knew her just as well, if not better, than Connor did. Poppy and Pomona were her closest friends; they understood each other, almost to the point of non-verbal communication. Filius and Minerva had taught alongside each other for decades; they had become friends over the years. And Albus, always Albus. Minerva had known him for so long she couldn't remember a time when she hadn't. Certainly this counted for more than a mere three years of dating someone?

Minerva closed her bag with a snap and slung it over her shoulder. Connor was at her side at once. 'Ready?' he asked.

'Yes. Let's go,' Minerva said, and they set off around the lake. Connor's first question was about Quidditch schedules and teams: exactly what Minerva's would have been if she'd been in his place.

Albus was looking out of his office window. He'd been doing some work in his study when he'd decided to take a break and stretch his legs. He'd gotten up, glanced out the window, and stopped. There were Minerva and Connor, walking around the lake together. He breathed slowly for a moment, then sat down.

It wasn't really such a large deal. Minerva had dated men off and on during her years as a teacher, though working at a boarding school made relationships hard. He'd seen her with men before; why did this affect him so?

Perhaps it was because he knew Connor would be working here for two years. Albus was fairly confident that the jinx on the DADA job was lifted now that Lord Voldemort was dead for good, and the contract Connor had signed ensured a minimum of two years as a teacher. It was one thing knowing Minerva was going out to dinner with a man; it was entirely another to see her with him, knowing that she might be with him for at least the next twenty-four months. And what was more, Albus had hired him.

Albus wondered if Minerva wanted to date – for lack a better term – Connor again. Would she come tell him if they started dating, or would she consider it obvious enough to veto that and avoid a potentially awkward conversation? _Albus, Connor and I are courting again. I love him. I thought you might like to know that. _The fake-Minerva in Albus' head smiled, almost maliciously, and skipped out the door, holding fake-Connor's hand. Fake-Connor followed after her like an eager puppy. Albus cringed and shook his head, banishing the thoughts. That would be an awkward moment, to be sure.

Albus took a deep breath. He was going to admit something to himself. He was. Right now. He was going to feel so much better when he did. He was going to tell himself, in no uncertain terms, _exactly _how much he liked Mi –.

There was a loud knock at the door, interrupting his thoughts. Partly relieved, partly disappointed and partly amused, Albus stood and waved his hand at the door to open it. To his surprise, Mr McGonagall stood in the doorway.

'Mr McGonagall! Come in, come in,' Albus said, beckoning the man. It was almost alarming how prominent the family resemblance was between him and Minerva. It had been by his appearance that Albus had known who Bran was when he had knocked on his door the other night.

'Thank you, Professor Dumbledore,' Mr McGonagall said, sweeping inside. 'I hope I'm not bothering you?'

'Of course not! In fact, I was just taking a break. I never could work for too long on a nice day,' Albus said ruefully, shaking the man's hand. 'Would care for something to drink? Perhaps some pumpkin juice?' Bran nodded.

'That would be wonderful,' he said. 'And please, it's Bran.' Albus smiled.

'Then it's Albus to you,' he said, leading the way to his sitting room and pouring them both a cool drink. He sat in happy silence, perfectly content to let Bran come to the point in his own good time. He hummed as he sipped his drink.

'The Weird Sisters?' Bran asked, looking amused. Albus chuckled.

'I find it a charming group. The students like it,' he said, laughing. Bran joined in.

When the laughter died away, Bran finally began to talk. 'Is Hogwarts in very bad shape?' he asked.

It actually pained Albus to think of the school, his home in so many ways, crumbling and falling apart. 'Not terribly. There was some damage, and still is. But it's in good hands,' he said, thinking of Minerva and smiling.

Bran too, it seemed, was thinking of his sister. 'Minerva doesn't work every day, does she?' he asked.

'You haven't asked her?' Albus asked, already knowing the answer. Work was a sensitive subject for her.

'I thought it best to steer clear of that sort of conversation,' Bran replied. 'Didn't want her getting the wrong idea, see.'

'She usually just works mornings,' Albus replied. 'She wasn't thrilled when the crew came over. I think if she had it her way she'd have done the whole thing herself.'

'That sounds like her,' Bran said. He hesitated. 'I was wondering…as she…talked…at all, about what happened last month? Or last year, really. She hasn't told me anything, and I don't know if that's because she _can't_ talk about it, or is shielding me from something.'

Albus considered carefully. He didn't want to betray Minerva's trust, but this was her brother, and he knew first-hand how much she loved him. 'Why do you ask me?' Albus asked. 'I do not mind, certainly, but I would have thought that Madam Pomfrey, perhaps, or Professor Sprout, would have been the first to think of.' Bran now looked embarrassed.

'I'm not sure. I suppose…when I think of Minerva talking about something that's hard for her, or that she feels uncomfortable about, you are usually the person I think of. I apologize if I'm wrong,' Bran hastened to add, 'I just thought…'

Albus let him trail off. 'You're not wrong,' he said quietly after a long moment. 'She has spoken, not much, but she has. Mostly about her students, during the year, watching them being tortured and disappearing. I think there was one time that the Death Eaters threatened her, and all the teachers, but I honestly do believe that it caused her more pain, emotionally and physically, to watch the students suffer.'

Bran looked worried. 'Death Eaters? Did they…hurt her, do you think?'

Albus felt terrible. This wasn't something he wanted to think about, let alone talk about, and with Minerva's brother no less. Albus was supposed to be dead. He knew that. He simply hadn't been ready to die – and if it wasn't too arrogant to say so, he hadn't thought that the wizarding world was ready for him to die either.

'I do not know,' Albus said slowly, hating the words as they came out of his mouth, 'but I…I would say yes. Death Eaters know no bounds.'

He said nothing else.

Bran was pale. 'I knew there was something she wasn't telling me.'

Albus wanted to keep his mouth shut, knowing that what he was about to say probably wouldn't be very much appreciated by Bran. 'She probably didn't consider it important,' he said quietly.

As suspected, Bran's eyes narrowed. 'What do you mean? Having the Unforgivables used on you seems pretty important to me!'

'It is important,' Albus said quietly. 'You have no idea how much it pained me, how much it pains me now, that Minerva and others were hurt while I was alive. But Minerva's focus was the students. It has always been and it will always be – outside of her family, of course.'

Bran was silent for a moment. 'Thank you,' he finally said. There was another long pause, this one more comfortable.

'You mean a lot to her, you know,' Bran said. 'She'd kill me if she heard me, but it's true.' Albus said nothing, but bowed his head, thinking of his thoughts from earlier, about Minerva and Connor. And about Minerva and himself. He liked Minerva. He liked her far too much for his own good.

'Where were you at lunch?' Poppy asked, tucking in to a steak and kidney pie. It was tea time, and she, Pomona and Minerva were eating together in her sitting room.

'I worked this afternoon,' Minerva explained, blowing on a mouthful. 'I spent the morning with Bran, but he had something to do this afternoon so I decided to work instead.'

'What time did you start working?' Pomona asked, already helping herself to treacle tart.

Minerva shrugged. 'Bran got here around nine… 'round twelve, I suppose.'

'And you've been working since then?' Pomona continued, with a pointed glance at the clock on the mantle, which read five-thirty.

'No,' Minerva snapped. 'If you must know, Connor came out at four to ask questions about working here.'

Pomona and Poppy exchanged a look that said they'd rather be giggling. 'And?' Poppy asked.

'And nothing,' Minerva replied briskly. 'We took a walk around the lake, and I answered all the questions he had.'

'A walk around the lake? How did that go?' Poppy asked, hiding a grin.

It didn't fool Minerva. 'What are you getting at?' she snapped.

'Please, Minerva,' Pomona said, 'don't try this. We know you and Connor courted for a long time, years ago. And from our perspective, he certainly seemed delighted to find you here. That's not the sort of reaction one gets from a man you broke up with and then works with years later.'

Minerva pursed her lips but didn't reply. She remembered Connor's last comment as they had strolled around the lake.

'So,' he'd said, hands in his robe pockets, 'you're the deputy.' It hadn't been a question, but Minerva had answered anyway.

'Yes,' she'd said. 'I have been for years.'

'Quite the step up from Transfiguration research,' he'd commented, and Minerva had immediately tensed.

'I suppose so,' she'd replied carefully.

'I remember all of the work you did, on Animagi, and Gamp's Law…when you systematically went through and tore apart each article in _Transfiguration Today_,' Connor had continued in a reminiscent sort of voice. He had turned to her and smiled ruefully. 'I suppose it was rather ridiculous of me to expect you to give that all up. I never apologized for that, did I?'

Minerva was utterly silent. She had decided that silence was the safest thing to maintain.

'Yes, well,' Connor had continued hastily when she had failed to answer. 'I apologize now, Minerva, for what I did back then. I am glad in way that you refused to listen to me, stayed focused…otherwise, Hogwarts would have been deprived of a truly amazing witch.'

Connor had looked at her, his kind eyes soft and warm, utterly sincere. Minerva could no longer get away with saying nothing. The way he had said it had implied that Connor was not only referring to her powers and capabilities as a witch, but to her person. The person that he had loved.

'Thank you,' she finally said. 'I am glad, as well. Hogwarts is my home now, and I would not give it up for anything.' She had meant it as a warning, perhaps; Connor had smiled and touched her hand gently. Minerva had internally shrieked.

'Well, I must go to tea. Good afternoon, Connor,' Minerva had said briskly, and had swept off without waiting for an answer.

'Good-bye, and thank you, Minerva!' Connor had called after her cheerfully.

'Minerva?' Pomona's voice jerked Minerva back to the present.

'What?' she snapped. 'Nothing happened, Pomona. My life is generally not terribly interesting.'

'Enough, both of you,' Poppy said decidedly, as Pomona opened her mouth to retaliate. 'Pomona, if Minerva doesn't want to talk to us, then don't persist. Minerva, we don't intend any harm, so stop snapping at us.'

Minerva was silent for a moment. They were right, she admitted to herself. She was tense and irritated, conflicted about Connor and Albus, and annoyed that she couldn't fully enjoy her brother's presence because of it. Perhaps talking to her friends would help.

'Fine,' she said. 'Here it is: I'm suspicious that Connor may still be in love with me, or at least that he thinks he is. I know that Trudy is overjoyed that he is here, and that if something negative happens with Connor and me, that she will be very hurt. I'm irritated that I have to work and deal with this when Bran is here. Also,' she continued, brusquely, 'Also, I don't think that I would like Albus to think that I may still be in love with Connor.' She stopped, then; 'Happy?'

Pomona and Poppy were clearly torn between delight, that she had told them all of this drama, and empathy, that their friend had to deal with all of this.

The delight won over. They grinned. 'Well,' Pomona said, diving right in and rubbing her hands together, 'do you _think _you may still be in love with Connor?'

'I doubt it,' Minerva replied crisply. 'That relationship ended the moment he insulted my honour.' Poppy and Pomona smiled. 'Insulted her honour,' indeed. 'I find it irritating that all of this has invaded in on Hogwarts. This was my new life, when I started here. I left the old one behind.'

'And now you feel as though it's caught up to you?' Pomona suggested. The friendly witch was usually sensitive to how others were feeling, but Minerva shook her head.

'I never ran away from it,' she said disapprovingly (as a Gryffindor, cowardice was something she was never comfortable with). 'I just left it behind. I felt as though it had never existed; I was staring anew, with a fresh slate. I got my life right the second time.'

'It's Dumbledore,' Pomona said.

'What?' Minerva demanded. 'What's Dumbledore?'

'Your second chance, Minerva,' said Pomona. 'Dumbledore always believed in second chances, and although you hadn't done anything evil or corrupt, a second chance is still a second chance. And that's what you got.'

'I suppose so,' Minerva sniffed. She always felt uptight whenever Albus was mentioned, and to be perfectly honest she didn't quite know why.

The rest of the evening passed without incident, and it was late when Minerva finally made it to bed. Her brother had not yet come in, but she was not particularly worried. Bran could take care of himself, and she was tired.

As it happened, Bran was tired as well. He was trying to find his way to Minerva's rooms, because although Dumbledore had offered the guest rooms, Minerva had offered her couch, and Bran preferred to be close to her.

At the moment, though, Bran was rather far away from his sister. He was, he admitted to himself, utterly lost, with no idea where he was. He'd come in from the Ministry meeting (with a quite good result) and promptly gotten lost. Perfect.

A noise behind him instinctively made him turn and raise his wand, a habit he feared he would never lose.

It was the new Muggle Studies teacher, what's-her-name Crawford. She looked around the corner timidly and approached him slowly when he lowered his wand apologetically.

'Sorry,' he told her. 'Old habits.'

She nodded as if she understood. 'That's alright,' she replied. 'Were you looking for Professor McGonagall?'

Bran could never get used to that. He was accustomed to seeing Minerva's former students come up to her and speak with her, shake her hand, still calling her 'Professor' though they'd left Hogwarts a long time ago. But he could never see Minerva as other adults did, ones Minerva had never taught: as a strict teacher. Minerva was the most passionate woman he knew, and to hear people call her 'Professor McGonagall' when they'd never been her students still made him do a momentary double-take.

'Yes,' he told the woman – Merlin, what was her name? – sheepishly. 'Erm, you wouldn't happen to know where her rooms are, would you?' Trudy – aha! that was her name – smiled brightly.

'Sure,' she said, 'I can find them. I hope.' Bran laughed, and Trudy's face glowed in the semi-darkness.

So they set off, around corridors and up staircases, perhaps taking a slight detour, chatting amicably. Trudy asked him how long he would be allowed to stay if he was only visiting his sister.

'Actually,' Bran told her with a confidential smile, 'Don't tell Minerva, but I just appealed to the Ministry and got a job supervising the reconstruction of the castle. That's what I do, by the way – repair magical architecture.' Trudy nodded; apparently she'd already known. 'So I came here for Minerva and wondered how I could stay longer – and came up with this! So I'll actually be here a few more weeks, perhaps a couple of months.'

Trudy looked strangely happy at that. 'That's lovely,' she said. 'Professor McGonagall will be very pleased.'

'Yeah, reckon so,' Bran said, casting Trudy a sideways glance.

They arrived at Minerva's door. 'Well, here it is,' Trudy said, gesturing.

'Thanks very much,' Bran replied. Trudy stood there for a moment longer, smiling at him.

'I'll see you tomorrow, maybe?' Trudy suggested, looking oddly hopeful.

'Yes, probably,' Bran said. 'My new job starts tomorrow, so…' he trailed off. Trudy appeared to be listening with utmost attention.

'Well, good-night, Bran,' said Trudy, and disappeared into the darkness. Bran turned to go inside. Trudy was a strange one.

**TBC**

Don't forget to review! :D

_And the individual reviews…_

_penny2287_: sorry for the slow pace. as I said earlier, this story is a long one, and at times, slow. I know I've said this before, but it will pick up – this chapter is hopefully the beginning. It doesn't always come out the way I thought it would.

_VictoriaGr_: hopefully, this chapter will satisfy at least some of your curiosity… enjoy!

_sevy MMAD_: thank, thank, THANK you! Your reviews are always so wonderful; I'm glad that I can take the time to answer. :) I'm glad that you're enjoying all the character development and that you're not getting bored or irritated with the pace. I am also happy that you find Albus and Minerva as canon as I can make them, because these two in particular, I find, are the hardest to accurately portray. :) As for Bran, I am so happy you like him! I like him too, I have to admit. He's almost the perfect older brother (but not quite – his flaws are coming. Otherwise, where's the realism? :P) Finally, you're very welcome – but I have to thank you for your utterly fantastic reviews and high (probably undeserved) opinion of my writing. :D

_greenlover2_: glad you're enjoying, thanks for the review. That's all I ask for :)

_eternal vampire: _I guess all men are like that: too thick to see what's right in front of them ;) thanks for the reassurance about the speed of the fic, and hope you enjoy this chapter :)

_Jen2281: _I will definitely keep writing…unless people start hating the story ;) thanks!

_blue-eye15_: thank you. Thank you so much. :)

_Darla: _I know the amount of OCs is getting kind of high, but most of them do have significant roles to play. Some aren't entirely mandatory, so to speak, but they do have a part in the story. another reason, I have to admit, was that I needed more teachers, and there were no pre-existing ones I could pick before getting ridiculous, so I resorted to OCs. And hopefully, you will like one or two of them enough to overlook their OC-ness.

_bkfl: _not much of a plot, but I'm glad you like it. :)

That's it for now! Don't forget to review, tell me what you liked, hated, etc. :) 'Til next time!


	7. Confrontation, And Then Again

_Hello again! Here is the latest installment of The Journey, brought to you by yours truly. Thanks alot for all of the great reviews, hope you keep it up! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I ended it when it seemed natural, so I apologize if it's not as long as others. Hopefully it will satisfy you until I can get another up. :)_

_There's one thing I would like to try. I do have an outline and everything, but if there is something you'd really like to see happen, either now or in later chapters, let me know via review or message and I'll try to work it in best I can. :) Anyway, Enjoy!_

**Confrontation, And Then Again**

Minerva did not bother returning the smile that Connor offered her at breakfast. She sat down at her spot, also not bothering to greet Dumbledore. She and Albus had been spending less and less time with each other over the past two weeks, when Connor had first arrived. At first, Minerva had attributed it to the fact that she was constantly occupied with something, either working, with her brother, or, in her spare moments, eating. But she slowly began to suspect that Albus was deliberately distancing himself from her.

And Minerva knew Albus well enough to have a very shrewd idea about why he was doing it. He was not angry with her, nor upset or indifferent. He was, she thought, simply giving her space on the chance that she and Connor got back together. Minerva closed her eyes and silently cursed Timothy Blake.

There had been an incident a few years back, when Minerva was fifty-four. She'd been courting with a kind (or so she thought) man she'd met at a ministry function, Timothy Blake. They'd had a warm, casual relationship until Timothy had come to Hogwarts for Christmas to surprise Minerva. He'd walked in on Minerva and Albus having a serious conversation in her office about whether or not Hogsmeade visits were still safe for the students (You-Know-Who had reached his peak of terror). He'd entirely misinterpreted the situation and had ended up screaming, with Albus still in the room, that it was impossible to have a proper relationship with her because of Dumbledore. He'd accused her disloyalty to him, which for Minerva had been a low blow. When Minerva had kicked Timothy out, she'd turned to find Albus very sombre. He'd apologized once, and from then on, whenever Minerva had a man in her life, Albus would go to lengths to make sure that her man saw he wasn't a threat. Minerva hated it.

And now it was happening again. She sighed. Term started in just a week, and Minerva had finally given in and was working full days in order to repair the castle in time for the first of September. Recognizing that it wasn't possible, Minerva had arranged for the Magical Maintenance crew to come every week, on Saturdays, to finish the job during the year. Between that, Connor, who vied for her attention, and Bran, Minerva had rarely had a chance to talk to Albus. She didn't bother eating this morning, after a quick glance at a clock told her it was ten to nine, but finished her tea and rose. She knew she'd lost weight, but she hardly cared at this point. The sooner term started and everyone had things to do, the happier she'd be.

There was a flip side to her happiness, though. As far she knew, Bran would be staying only until term started. Non-staff at Hogwarts were not permitted in the castle during the year for a certain length of time or longer, unless they were married to a staff member. So Bran would have to go. The thought saddened her. She rarely saw her brother, but she knew that it was mainly her fault. Bran was unattached and had a good career with flexible hours. It was Minerva's isolation that caused the problems.

When Minerva stood up, Bran followed suit. He offered her a lopsided grin and followed her out into the corridor. He ran a hand through his hair, black like Minerva's, but thick and tousled. They walked in silence for a moment. Then;

'So,' Bran said. Their steps were perfectly synchronized, the swish of their robes uniform. Minerva arched an eyebrow and said nothing.

'I've been here for two weeks,' said Bran, burying his hands deep in his robe pockets. 'Bit too long, in the eyes of the school governors.' Minerva sighed, almost inaudibly. The week that remained would be even busier than it was now, offering little spare time.

'You know the rules, I'm sure, Minerva,' Bran continued. 'I can't stay unless I marry someone here.' Bran chuckled a bit, but Minerva raised her eyebrows.

'Careful,' she warned him, speaking at last. 'I'd imagine there's someone here who probably would.' Bran looked genuinely surprised, but quickly recovered and grinned.

'Who? Someone with extensive mental damage?' he joked. Minerva glared at him.

'Enough jokes, Bran,' she snapped. 'What's your point?'

'My point, Minerva, is that I applied for a supervising role for the Magical Maintenance crew here at Hogwarts and got it. I'll be here at least once a week for another couple of months.'

Minerva's whole countenance changed at once. Her narrowed eyes and thin lips vanished and were replaced by shining eyes and an uncharacteristic look of delight. 'Are you serious?' she cried.

'Never been more serious in my life, little Min,' Bran told her, and Minerva hugged him hard.

'That's wonderful, Bran! It'll certainly help to have someone else with any sense on the crew, if nothing else,' she said. 'And you'll be here for Christmas, too!' Then she sobered. 'And I was right terrible to you not five minutes ago, wasn't I? Merlin, I'm sorry, Bran. I don't know why I'm so irritable these days.'

'Minerva!' called a voice behind them, and the siblings turned and found Connor hurrying up the corridor.

'Scratch that,' Minerva muttered under her breath. 'I know _exactly _why.'

'Morning, Mr McGonagall,' Connor said politely to Bran, who nodded in return. Minerva gave Bran a if-you-leave-me-alone-with-this-man-I-will-hunt-you-down-and-kill-you look. Bran raised his eyebrows slightly but fell in step next to the other two.

When they reached the grounds, Bran could find no other excuse to stay with Minerva. He gave her a part-apologetic, part-mischievous smile and departed. Connor nodded his farewell and waited until Bran had gone back inside before turning to Minerva.

'I was wondering, Minerva,' Connor began, and Minerva closed her eyes and dreaded what was coming next. 'If you would care to share a drink in Hogsmeade later? I find myself rather wanting of your company.' He looked at her so hopefully, so sweetly, that Minerva gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she had fallen _out _of love with this man lifetimes ago. She was not a cruel person, but drinking with Connor was not going to happen.

'I'm busy tonight, I'm afraid,' she told him as gently as she could – which wasn't very. 'Surely you've noticed that term is starting in a week, Connor?' she asked, doing her utmost to keep the sarcasm from her voice. 'I am very busy, I'm sorry. Not today.'

To his credit, Connor did not look disappointed. In fact, he only looked concerned. 'Of course that's alright, Minerva! I'm sorry; I shouldn't have asked when I know that you have so much more to do than me. I'm sorry, really; I shouldn't have tempted you.'

Minerva gritted her teeth again. _Tempted _her? Irritated the hell out of, more like. 'Yes, well,' she said briskly, 'if you'll excuse me…' Connor looked confused for a moment before he cottoned on.

'Right! Well, I'll see at lunch, I hope, Minerva,' he told her. And he looked so honestly hopeful that Minerva felt, for a moment, instantly horrible for refusing him. But the feeling soon dissipated and Connor left. Minerva rubbed her temples and seriously considered retirement.

* * *

'You look tired, Albus,' Filius squeaked to Dumbledore at the breakfast table. 'Perhaps you need a pick-me-up at the Three Broomsticks this evening?'

Albus smiled tiredly at the tiny man. 'I appreciate the thought, Filius, but I rather think that an early bedtime might be more efficient than a nightcap.' Filius chuckled and nodded.

'You are right, of course, Albus,' he said with a smile. 'Only do let me know if there's something I can do?'

Albus nodded and assured him he would. Truth be told, Albus kind of felt as though he _could _use a drink, but he had heard Connor mention to Trudy that he was going to ask Minerva to the Three Broomsticks tonight; Albus wasn't going anywhere near Hogsmeade today.

He honestly hated what he did to Minerva: all of the distancing and coolness towards her, he knew, probably hurt her. But he would _not _stand in the way of another relationship of hers ever again, even if he wanted to.

_That_ right there was a thought he'd never wanted to have. Of course he didn't want to stand in the way of Minerva and her relationships, to do so would be immoral and rude and perfectly selfish. Because Albus _did _rather want her all to himself.

Shaking his head at his thoughts, Albus trudged up to his office and worked for the next few hours. He paused only to talk to Fawkes, who trilled a sympathetic note and flared his beautiful wings.

'I don't know, Fawkes,' Albus said, stroking the phoenix fondly. 'I am being selfish, aren't I? I warned Harry of this flaw of mine, but somehow I don't think he believed me.' He smiled faintly. 'If only he could see me now.' Fawkes fluttered onto Albus' shoulder for a time before flying out the window.

Albus skipped lunch and worked meticulously until half-past two, when there was a knock at his door. The portraits, who had been napping, jerked awake. The visitor didn't bother to wait for an answer from within before sweeping inside.

It was Minerva, and she was angry. Albus couldn't keep the surprise off his face, nor the trepidation. He was in trouble, he thought.

'What are you doing?' Minerva demanded, stopping just short of the other side of his desk. Albus sensed that this wasn't an academic-related meeting and stood up, coming around from behind his desk.

'I am working, Minerva,' he replied carefully. Minerva's lips thinned; always a bad sign.

'No,' she snapped angrily. 'That's not what I meant. Why are you avoiding me?'

'Minerva,' Dumbledore began, 'you know that I –.'

'No,' Minerva interrupted, looking furious. 'I _don't _know, not about this. I've had it, Albus! I'm tired of you pretending you don't know me every time a man walks into the room!' She really did look very angry.

'I don't want to inadvertently get your way, Minerva,' he said slowly. 'I do not want to ruin your chances and your relationships like I did before.'

'Why is that?' Minerva demanded, but to Albus' surprise, he detected no sarcasm in the question. She honestly wanted to know.

'If relationships make you happy, Minerva, I do not want to take that away from you,' Albus told her gently.

Minerva shook her head. 'You make me unhappy when you do this, Albus. It feels like you push me out of your life and into someone else's every time I get involved with someone. You are afraid of taking away my happiness, yet you do so when you reject me under these circumstances.'

Albus couldn't speak, not yet, but Minerva wasn't done. 'If a man can't accept my relationship with you, Albus, then he isn't the sort of person I want to get involved with. I don't intend to give up my friendships in order to be with someone, Albus. I'm not that sort of person, and frankly, I'm insulted that you'd think that of me.'

'Minerva,' Albus began, his mouth dry.

She shook her head. 'No, there are no reasons for this, Albus. If you truly do not _want _to talk to me any longer, then say so. Is this the case?'

'No, Minerva, no, of course not!' Albus said, horrified at the very thought.

'Then stop this foolishness and wake up. You are important to me. Not Connor or anyone else is going to change that, and it's foolish of them – or you – to try.'

Albus swallowed. 'Minerva, you know how much you mean to me. I don't mean to hurt you, I promise you.' This was harder than admitting it to himself. Now he faced her, not his own thoughts.

'I thought I knew, Albus, but now I'm afraid I'm not so sure. Do I mean so little to you that you are comfortable with the thought of never speaking to me again? Because this is what I understand when you push me away. This is the message I am getting.'

'That is not the message I am trying to send,' Albus told her, his eyes burning into her face. 'I am trying, in my own introverted, convoluted way to be unselfish, to allow others to have y – to have time with you.'

'Unselfish?' Minerva repeated, as though this wasn't a term she understood or expected.

Albus smiled ruefully and breathed deeply. _Tell her, _a voice in his head insisted. 'I…I could keep you all to myself, if I had my way, Minerva. But this is not the case, nor will I allow it to be.' He was disgusted with himself. He ignored the voice is his head, the one calling him a coward.

Minerva swallowed and looked away, blinking quickly. She didn't speak for a moment.

'I'm glad that got sorted out then,' she said, not meeting his eyes. 'You will stop disregarding me, then? Good.' She glanced around, still avoiding his gaze. Albus watched her, willing her eyes to meet his.

'Good-afternoon, then, Dumbledore,' she said, and turned and left. The door swung shut behind her. The silence that prevailed was ringing and uninterrupted for a long moment.

Then; 'Gryffindors,' came the sneering, nasal voice of Phineas Nigellus. 'Always too noble for their own good.'

'Be quiet!' the portrait of the red-nosed Fortescue snapped at Phineas. 'Such rudeness!'

Dumbledore said nothing, but left the office for his own private chambers. He did not return.

* * *

Minerva steadied herself once outside his office. She braced her hands against the wall and bowed her head, breathing deeply and willing herself to stop shaking. She tried not to think, but Albus' voice resonated in her head again and again.

_I could keep you all to myself, if I had my way, Minerva. _

_I could keep you all to myself. _

_All to myself. _

'Enough!' she said aloud, so loudly she startled herself. She breathed deeply and started walking, where to she had no idea, but she needed to move and walking was a good start.

She walked, hardly knowing where she was going, trying to sort out the mess that her head was in. She attempted to muster up some sort of anger, disgust, anything, in response to Albus' statement. He could keep her all to himself, he'd said. That, said by any other man, would have provoked a rage. She would have asserted her independence, her unwillingness to be 'kept', by hexing the man who had said it with a – legal – variation of something that felt like the Cruciatus Curse. So why was Albus any different? If Connor had said it, Minerva was sure she'd have lost her temper. Why did Albus' statement make her feel like crying and laughing at the same time?

It was, Minerva decided with an amused smile, all Connor McKinley's fault. If he had never come to Hogwarts, Albus wouldn't have avoided her, she wouldn't have confronted him, and she wouldn't be as bloody confused as she was right now. So, with all the subtlety of a Hufflepuff, she laid the blame squarely on Connor's shoulders and set off in search of brother, pushing all thoughts of Albus to the back of her mind.

Minerva found herself outside the trophy room, and paused for a moment. She hadn't gone in here in ages, and she felt a strange urge to go inside now. She glanced along the corridor, surreptitiously searching for Filch, whom she thankfully hadn't seen a lot of this summer. They weren't on very good terms at the moment, not after she'd called him a 'blithering idiot' two months ago when You-Know-Who was laying siege to the school. More to the point, she'd ordered him to go find Peeves, his mortal enemy, an act Minerva doubted Filch would ever forgive.

Minerva stepped inside the musty room, the hem of her robes collecting the dust that lay on the floor. Filch evidently hadn't been doing much cleaning in here. She smiled to herself as she laid a hand on the Special Awards for Services to the School that Potter and Weasley had won in their second year for defeating Slytherin's monster. She glanced around, memories flooding her mind as the trophies glinted in the faint light. She pursed her lips and, once again looking around furtively, went to the back of the room and looked through the old trophies. The trophy room was emptied and the trophies stored away every century or so, so what she was looking for should still be here.

Ah, there it was: The Quidditch Cup of 1942. She rubbed the names with her sleeve and read them to herself until she reached her own. Minerva McGonagall, Chaser, it read, engraved in the dusty metal. She smiled, remembering her happiness, her joy at finally winning the Cup. She replaced the trophy carefully and stood up.

A laugh outside made Minerva whirl around, her hand jumping to her wand automatically. She raised her eyebrows at a thought and turned into her Animagus form.

It always felt good being a cat. It was so liberating, being able to let go of all the human worries and complications and just _being. _She loved her form, loved the grace and the slyness and the emphasised senses. Minerva slunk to the door and hid in a shadow, having no problem hearing. She would've felt bad about eavesdropping, but she smelled a scent she recognized as her brother, and the two hid nothing from each other.

'You're not serious?' came Trudy Crawford's laughing voice, and had Minerva been human, her eyebrows would've been so high they'd have disappeared. What was Trudy doing with her brother?

'Always am,' Bran said. Minerva doubted Trudy could hear it, but she sensed a tone of bafflement in her brother's voice. So, he too was confused as to what Trudy was doing with him.

'Actually Bran, I was wondering, well, Connor invited Minerva to the Three Broomsticks tonight, and I figured I would go along as well. Would you like to come?' Trudy wasn't sneaky enough to trick Bran into going with her when Minerva wasn't, so Connor must not have yet told her that she, Minerva, was not going. But why was she asking Bran? Pure courtesy did not demand that, Minerva was sure.

'Actually, I don't think Minerva can go,' Bran said. 'She mentioned it to me earlier. But if they do end up going, I may as well tag along.'

'Oh, well, that would be lovely,' Trudy replied, sounding odd. 'I'll see you at dinner, I suppose?'

'Bye, then,' Bran said, and Minerva heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. She transformed back and stepped out of her shadow just as Bran turned around.

He jumped, swearing. 'Bloody hell, Minerva! Don't do that to me.' Minerva arched an eyebrow and started away. Bran quickly caught up with her.

'So,' Minerva said, trying (and failing) to hide her amusement. 'On a first-name basis with my teachers already, Bran?' Bran shrugged.

'She's just being friendly, I expect,' Bran replied, not looking particularly analytical.

'By inviting you to Hogsmeade,' said Minerva. Bran nodded. 'To the Three Broomsticks.' He shrugged. 'For a drink,' Minerva finished. Bran finally looked at her.

'What's your point, little sis?' he asked.

Minerva gave up. She loved her brother dearly, but he was just a man, when it came right down to it. Minerva could be wrong, theoretically. It was possible that she was blowing this out of proportion, making something out of nothing. Perhaps Trudy _was _simply being friendly. Minerva could be wrong.

But she doubted it.

'How did you know I wasn't going, by the way?' she asked. 'I didn't speak to you about any such thing this morning.'

Bran grinned. 'Just figured that it wouldn't be on your list of priorities, going out with Connor.' He shrugged, still grinning. 'It being only a week to term and all. And then there's Dumbledore, of course,' he added, almost as an afterthought.

It took all of Minerva restraint not to stop there in the hallway and grab Bran's arm. 'What does that mean? What does Dumbledore have to do with it?'

'Where've you just been, before you saw me?' Bran asked, almost casually. Minerva reddened and scowled. Bran raised his eyebrows and smiled.

'I know the two haven't been talking too much the last few weeks, Minerva. I figured it had something to do with Connor. Also, you were never the type to date someone on and off. Once the relationship was done, that was it.' He paused and then added, 'It drove wizards crazy.'

Minerva did not deign to reply. She knew perfectly well that when she ended her relationship with a wizard in the heat of an argument, they expected her to send them an owl the next day. Minerva never did. When she said it was over, she meant it, and usually with little regret.

Bran let the subject drop and they chatted about other things until Minerva reached her office. Bran lounged on her couch while she worked on lesson plans until it was time for dinner. Both made their way to the staffroom. Minerva and Albus talked during the meal, both feeling much better for the return of the other's company.

When Minerva got into bed that night, she pulled the sheets up and turned on her side. One voice echoed infinitely in her mind: _I could keep you all to myself, Minerva. _

**TBC**

A/N: No offence intended to Hufflepuffs! Reviews, please! :) Hope you enjoyed!


	8. Hanged for a Dragon, Hanged for an Egg

_Yahoo, a new chapter! SO sorry for the long wait, this one was tricky! Hope you enjoy, don't forget to review! :)_

**Hanged for a Dragon, Hanged for an Egg**

October was, in Minerva's opinion, the worst month of the year. Students had by now gotten past the novelty of a new routine, of being able to do magic freely, of learning. Now their attention shifted to other things: Quidditch, clubs, pranks, and – oh, horrors – each other. Students became bold, irritating, and attention-seeking; not at all the enthusiastic children they'd been in September. October held nothing of interest to capture anyone's attention (except for Hallowe'en, but that didn't count because it was at the end). Teachers didn't bother to report bad behaviour; for this month, it was commonplace. No child in the castle made any effort to work hard for these four weeks. October was boring, empty, and as annoying as Moaning Myrtle was on a bad day.

There was also her birthday.

Minerva had long since stopped caring about her birthday. It wasn't something she had done intentionally; it was simply that after fifty or sixty of them, she found them less and less important. She was also the only one who felt this way.

Albus treasured his special day. Perhaps because he was so old, he considered each year a blessing. Perhaps he simply loved an excuse to dress up, eat sweets, and celebrate. He delighted in making other people enjoy their special days too, a tradition Minerva had come to dread. And Slughorn, well, Minerva knew that Horace loved parties, especially dinner ones. There was not a chance on Earth that he would deprive himself of the chance to receive his favourite crystallized pineapple as a gift and gorge himself on delicious food. As for Filius, the little man was so cheerful and enthusiastic about everything; Minerva had rarely ever seen him frown. And Filius certainly loved to decorate, particularly with those live fairies he was so fond of.

Minerva didn't hate other people's birthdays; in fact, she didn't even hate her own. What she _did _hate was everyone making a large fuss out of something that, if she had her way, would be completely ignored. Minerva never got her way, not about this, and not with Albus in charge. It was the one time of the year when Minerva hated that man.

She'd been woken early on Saturday, the fourth of October, by a large tawny school owl hooting cheerfully on her nightstand. Frowning, she reached out and took the envelope and the rose from the owl's beak, swearing to herself two things: one, if the envelope made any sort of noise when she opened it, she would scream and throw it out the window; two, if it was from Connor and contained the word 'love' anywhere at all, in any context, it would be used to fuel the fire in her sitting room.

Thankfully, it was neither. It was a note from Albus, wishing her a wonderful day and telling her to stop frowning – which she was doing right at that moment. That did make her laugh, and the rose was lovely. She put it in a vase of water and got dressed.

It wasn't completely terrible, as birthdays went. Poppy and Pomona gave her a pair of dragonskin gloves and a beautiful ruby-red quill, respectively. Slughorn, predictably, gave her his usual: a package of Ginger Newts in a Slytherin-green tin. They both knew that Minerva would charm the tin to be tartan-patterned the second he left, but Minerva always waited until he left and besides, it was sort of a running joke between them. Filius gave her an interesting book entitled 'The Magical Properties and Research of Stonehenge', which Bran later said sounded boring but for which Minerva had been looking for ages. Bran gave her a cat collar (Minerva boxed his ears for that) and a new maroon-coloured book bag. Hagrid's gift was a box of his home-made treacle fudge. Trudy, who was obviously unsure if she ought to get Minerva something, though Minerva had her not to bother countless times, handed her a card and bottle of new black ink.

That left two and Minerva had spent that night sitting up in bed (Albus had given her the night off patrolling corridors) looking over them.

Connor's gift was a silver necklace. It was light, simple, and very tasteful: just the sort of thing that suited Minerva perfectly. The necklace both annoyed her and made her sad. Unless Minerva was very much mistaken (which she wasn't), Connor had given her a similar necklace almost fifty years ago, on their two-year anniversary. Minerva would have put the necklace aside to look at the other present, but Albus' gift was just as confusing.

It was a thick, heavy, winter cloak made of a deep black material. The inside was lined with some soft cloth that Minerva rubbed against her face (just once, mind you). Also on the inside, just over where her heart would be when she put it on, was a bit of detailed embroidery. There, in vibrant-coloured thread, was embroidered a vivid phoenix feather and a silver cat with spectacle markings around its eyes, watching it fall. Underneath was embroidered in a loopy handwriting, _Gryffindors. _

Every time Minerva looked at it her eyes watered and she needed a handkerchief. She remembered what Albus had said when he'd handed her the wrapped package.

'I do hope it's not too personal, Minerva,' he'd told her gently, quietly. 'It'll be useful in the coming months, anyway.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Albus,' Minerva had chided him. 'I've known you for fifty years. If you are not allowed to be personal, then who is?' He'd smiled and embraced her gently – perhaps a second longer than usual.

Connor had hugged her too, and longer than the norm, his eyes shining and his expression happy, hopeful. Minerva returned the smile tightly and had known, in that moment, that it was not Connor she wanted.

_Gryffindors. _Gryffindors, plural. Albus was referring to their shared house, their shared qualities, their shared _everything. _It indicated everything they had in common. If Connor had implied anything like that, Minerva would have scowled. When Albus _embroidered _it, on her _clothes, _did Minerva mind? Oh, hell no.

What the bloody hell was wrong with her?

* * *

Albus sat in his sitting room, in front of the fire. He watched the dancing flames and wondered if anyone else was sitting up in their rooms, in front of the fire, thinking. He glanced up at the clock and smiled ruefully, shaking his head. It was quarter past midnight; he rather doubted anyone was.

The day had been a success, in his opinion. After hours of contemplation, he had finally elected to send Minerva note in the morning. He had considered charming it to make it sing, but somehow he had doubted that Minerva would appreciate his efforts. He'd also neglected to write anything too 'touchy-feely', knowing that Minerva wouldn't be in the mood for something like that at seven in the morning. A rose, he'd thought, wasn't too intimate, so he'd felt fine sending one of those too. He'd also spent agonizing days and weeks wondering if he ought to personalize the fine cloak he'd bought her, finally deciding to chance it and embroidering it himself – with a little magical help. Albus was fairly good at reading emotions, and from the way Minerva's eyes had widened and the sudden increase in frequency of her blinks, he'd supposed she'd liked it.

How was it that he could spout wisdom off the top of his head, but he spent weeks struggling over whether or not to send a woman a good-morning note?

A slight ache in his legs alerted Albus to the fact that he needed a stretch. He decided to walk down to the kitchens for some hot chocolate before bed. Despite the fact that it was late, tomorrow was Sunday, and he could sleep until nine if need be. He pulled his purple dressing gown on over his night shirt and set off.

Albus saw no one on his way downstairs, though he half expected to hear a cough, or perhaps a swear word or two, as he often had when Harry and young Mr Weasley had crept about the castle under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Albus strode downstairs, skipping over the trick stair and walking until he reached the painting of the fruit. He tickled the pear and went inside.

The few house-elves that stayed in the kitchen at night while the others cleaned tripped over themselves rushing to serve the Headmaster. Albus greeted them cheerfully and assured them that he quite enjoyed making his own hot chocolate, as he did every time he came to the kitchen. When they tiny creatures finally acquiesced, Albus set about finding a mug.

He was in the middle of pouring hot water from the kettle into his mug when he heard the door open behind him. Without turning around, Albus suddenly knew who it would be. He actually looked to the heavens in silent questioning before he turned to face the visitor. Sure enough, it was Connor McKinley.

'Professor McKinley,' he said with a smile. 'Good evening – or perhaps it should be good morning?' Connor smiled awkwardly. He had evidently not expected to run into the Headmaster in the kitchen in the middle of the night.

McKinley was wearing a cream-coloured night shirt and a mustard yellow dressing gown. He stepped hesitantly into the room and was immediately surrounded by three or four house-elves. 'Would Professor McKinley like something to eat? How can we serve the Professor?' they chattered excitedly.

'Um, no, thank you,' McKinley said awkwardly, and Albus knew this was his first time in the kitchens. It did take a while to get used to the house-elves' overly helpful manners.

'Would you care for some hot chocolate?' Albus found himself offering. 'There is some hot water left in the kettle, and the powder is next to it.' He inclined his head in the direction of the wooden stove. Connor paused for a moment before nodding and going to the stove. As he reached for the kettle it occurred to him that he had no mug. Almost at the same instant this thought occurred, Dumbledore's voice broke the silence.

'In the cupboard above you,' he said. McKinley found a mug and poured the water, mixing the hot chocolate together before turning and sitting down at the small table across from Albus. There was a silence.

Albus never felt awkward. He was simply not an awkward person. He had a personal motto that there was always something to do or talk about in order to alleviate any discomfort in a situation. When Bran had come to talk to him, Albus had hummed. Now, with Connor, Albus used a different tactic. He talked.

'It's a bit late,' he observed, blowing gently on his steaming mug. Connor shrugged and took a gulp of his drink, only to choke on it as it scalded his throat.

Charming.

'Minerva seemed to be fairly…unexcited, today,' Connor finally said slowly, as if he was thinking carefully about what he was saying. 'Sort of…cold.'

Albus nodded. 'Minerva's not particularly fond of birthday celebrations,' he said. Shouldn't Connor know this already?

'When Minerva and I were together, she loved celebrating,' Connor insisted, answering Albus' unspoken thought. The sentence reverberated around Albus' skull as the clear implication of the words drove in.

Albus considered his next sentence carefully, cautiously choosing his words. 'She's changed a bit in the years since then, I expect.' Connor mouth twitched into a slight frown, but his expression smoothed over quickly.

'I suppose so,' Connor said. He looked up and met Albus' gaze. 'Why do you celebrate it, if she dislikes it so intently?' Albus felt his brow furrow slightly at the slight emphasis of accusation in Connor's tone.

'I believe it is an important day that should be honoured,' Albus finally replied. 'Besides which, if she truly did not want to celebrate it, she would tell me, and I would discontinue. I am under the impression that as long as the event is low-key, she doesn't detest it.'

'I suppose so,' said Connor. After a pause, he asked, 'What did you get her?' This time, Albus could not keep the frown from twisting his visage. This seemed too personal a question to ask of a man who you had known but two months, was your superior, and when the topic in question concerned a woman that both of the men knew.

'A cloak,' Albus said truthfully enough. He did not elaborate, and Connor did not request further clarification. Perhaps he sensed Albus would not give it. He seemed more confident, slightly triumphant, as though he knew his gift had been better, more memorable.

'I gave her a silver necklace,' Connor provided without being asked (Albus did not actually want to know). 'It is one very similar to the one I gave her almost fifty years ago.'

Albus said nothing, but to Connor, the room suddenly seemed colder.

As the two men fell into silence, Albus was struck by a sudden thought. He could not say where the thought came from, or why it suddenly occurred to him at that moment. Perhaps it was the current uncomfortable conversation, or the subject of discussion, but whatever the reason, Albus looked at Connor with absolute certainty that they would never be friends.

* * *

Minerva strode down the hallway, her new bag over her shoulder, now slightly worn after a week of use, and her heels clicking steadily. She was going to drop off her bag in her office, pick up her new cloak, and then meet Pomona in the Charms corridor for a walk outside by the greenhouses.

Students were sprawled around everywhere, obviously not in any hurry to do homework now that it was Friday and they had an entire weekend to do it. Minerva's birthday had been nearly a week ago, and Minerva's opinion of October had somewhat improved in the time since. It was a cold, breezy day, as it had been for the last fortnight, and the weather showed no sign of improving. Whilst outwardly glad of the warmth her new cloak would provide, Minerva was a little wary of wearing it in public. She was sure she would suffer some sort of pathetic emotional display if anyone pointed out the cloak's personalization. Albus really was very sweet.

Once Minerva had pulled on the soft cloak, she impulsively decided to make her way to the Charms corridor in her Animagus form. She'd often received compliments about her fitness despite her age, but the truth was that she got most of her exercise when she was a tabby cat. Just one of the bonuses of studying Transfiguration for one's entire life.

Minerva slunk along the corridors, her paws making no sound as she stole away in the shadows. The sound of familiar human voices made their way to her, and her ears automatically pricked up in the direction of the sounds.

Minerva's general morals definitely included a lack of eavesdropping, so even though the voices belonged to Connor and Trudy – and Minerva heard _her own name_ in the conversation– she kept going. She couldn't prevent hearing what was said when she passed by, unnoticed, however.

'…with Professor McGonagall, Connor?' Trudy was asking of her cousin.

'It's going well, I think,' Connor replied. 'I'm going to ask her to go out to the…'

Had Minerva been human, she probably would have gritted her teeth. As it happened, she wasn't, and so with an extraordinary amount of self-control, she slunk on to the Charms corridor.

Minerva met Pomona and the two went outside. Pomona complimented Minerva's cloak and raised her eyebrows when Minerva's stated where she'd gotten it.

'From Dumbledore?' she repeated. 'That's a very nice gift. Sort of makes me feel terrible about mine,' she joked. Minerva rolled her eyes.

'Don't be ridiculous,' she said. 'It is very nice, of course, but just a cloak.' Minerva frowned a bit as the half-truth slipped through her lips. Pomona seemed to sense otherwise.

'Of course, dearie,' she said comfortingly. 'Now listen, don't let's argue. It's been a while since we've really talked, hasn't it? I hardly saw you all summer, and now I rarely see you on weekends, what with work and your brother and everything.'

Minerva smiled fondly at her friend. 'I know, and I apologize. Things really have been rather hectic. In one way, I'll be glad when the castle is repaired; at least I shall be given back my Saturdays.'

'You'll miss Bran, though,' Pomona extrapolated from Minerva's sentence. It was obvious to everyone how close the two were.

Minerva nodded. 'Of course I will,' she replied crisply. 'It's not often I see him at all, usually only during vacation. And two months once a year is hardly fulfilling considering it's been that way for forty years.'

Pomona nodded. 'You know, I saw Bran with Trudy the other day. He must've said something funny, because Trudy hasn't laughed that hard since she arrived here.'

'Trudy laughs at whatever my brother says,' Minerva sniffed. 'More than likely Bran just asked her to pass the salt.' Though Minerva liked Trudy very much, she sometimes found the younger witch rather clingy, especially with her brother – which was odd given that Trudy had known him but two months.

'Jealous?' Pomona asked, looking amused. 'Is dear Trudy monopolizing your brother's precious time?'

'Certainly not!' Minerva snapped. 'I simply find it odd at times, is all. You don't see everyone else so familiar with Bran. I suppose I feel she overdoes it a bit.'

'May as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg,' Pomona said wisely. 'Don't let it bother you too much Minerva. She's just being friendly.' In actuality, Pomona wasn't sure what Trudy's true motivations were, but this didn't seem a good time to mention that to Minerva.

'It doesn't matter why she's doing it; I can't very well condemn her for being too friendly. It's just that I've seen Bran a total of four days since term started, and he's here once a week!' Minerva said briskly.

'No, I don't suppose you can,' Pomona agreed thoughtfully. 'Still, though, if you talked to her about the matter…' Minerva was shaking her head.

'No, no,' she sighed. 'I don't want to hurt her. I'll talk to Bran, I suppose, tomorrow.' Pomona agreed, and the two continued their walk.

* * *

Trudy was sitting in the staff room. She'd quickly learned, after the first Friday of the term, in September, that the staff gathered together for a drink on Friday nights. Dumbledore also held biweekly staff meetings, but this week wasn't one. She was a bit early, though there was no official time of commencement. Teachers usually started straggling in around nine o'clock, after the students had gone to bed.

Dinner had been odd. Professor McGonagall's behaviour had been almost strange, as if she knew something Trudy didn't. (Trudy still wasn't brave enough to call her Minerva, despite urges from the rest of the staff ('She's not a god, you know,' said Slughorn) and from the Deputy herself.) Trudy had wondered if Professor McGonagall had heard of Connor's plans for that night. But that was impossible, Connor hadn't told anyone but her. Still, Professor McGonagall had spoken mostly to Pomona and Dumbledore throughout the meal, though Trudy personally thought it was obvious Connor was trying to get the strict witch's attention.

But now the teachers were starting to come in. Madam Pomfrey came in with Filius, complaining about students who were always trying to sneak out of the hospital wing. Hagrid, never one to miss a drink, followed them. Pomona and Professor McGonagall arrived shortly after that, Dumbledore on his deputy's other side. Trelawney rarely ever showed up to the Friday night gatherings. Trudy had never really met the woman face to face, and to be honest, judging by the way the other teachers said the Divination teacher's name, she wasn't sure she wanted to. Horace arrived last, jovial as always, with a bottle of Madam Rosmerta's finest, oak matured mead, already partially empty.

Most people had a drink now, though Professor McGonagall had declined. Trudy had never seen her drink, though Slughorn had assured her that the deputy was no stranger to whiskey when there were no students in the castle. Dumbledore too was not drinking, but talking to Minerva. Trudy noticed Connor eying the Headmaster and sidled up to him.

'What's wrong?' she asked, sipping the glass of sweet sherry she held. She'd seen Professor McGonagall and Poppy glance at the sherry on the table disdainfully, but Trudy liked a sweet drink. She had a rather low tolerance for alcohol, to her own dismay.

'Nothing's wrong,' Connor muttered back. 'I'm just waiting for the right moment.' Trudy nodded, once again admiring her cousin's patience. It seemed endless, even to Trudy, who needed a lot of it when working with Muggles. Connor took another gulp of whatever liquid he held, and Trudy smelled alcohol on his breath.

'What's the right moment?' Trudy asked, a smile on her face. 'When the Headmaster leaves her alone?' Connor rolled his eyes at her.

'Preferably, yes,' he said, and Trudy giggled. Then she told herself to ease off on the sherry.

Finally, Dumbledore ambled off, and Connor put on a warm smile and walked off to Minerva's side. Trudy rather thought the room got slightly quieter, and glanced over to see Poppy and Pomona watching the couple carefully.

'Good evening, Minerva,' Connor said warmly to his companion.

'Evening,' Minerva replied, glancing down at her hands as though she suddenly wished for a drink.

'Can I get you something?' Connor offered gallantly. 'A gillywater, perhaps?'

'No, thank you,' Minerva replied stiffly, and with a sudden, violent sensation, Trudy felt like shouting out to Connor in warning. Why, she could not say, but the feeling did not go away.

'Minerva,' Connor began, 'may I be frank with you?' Professor McGonagall looked up.

'I'd rather you were,' she told him, but the look on her face told Trudy otherwise.

'Minerva,' Connor began again, his voice careful and polite, but still warm and eager. 'I cannot begin to express to you how very sorry I am that our time together ended on such a bitter note. I've thought about you, about us, in the years that have passed, and I confess that I have missed you.' Connor was looking down, and consequently did not see the look on Minerva's face. 'I have asked you out a few times since the lucky coincidence that brought us together again, and you have always been previously engaged. I ask you know, as bluntly as I can, to reconsider. I would be honoured to have another chance at a relationship with you, Minerva.' Connor said her name so tenderly, Trudy would have cried had she not been opening her mouth to tell Connor to shut up, suddenly realizing what Connor did not.

'Connor,' Minerva started, either not noticing or ignoring the fact that half the room was listening. 'I don't –.'

'I loved you, Minerva, and I know that we could have that again.' Trudy actually took a step forwards towards them, torn.

'No,' Minerva said slowly. 'We couldn't.'

'Couldn't?' Connor repeated, as though he didn't understand.

'No,' Minerva said again, slowly and clearly. 'I enjoyed our time together, but that was years and years ago. Too long, Connor. I don't wish to hurt you, but I have never regretted ending our relationship.'

'But Minerva,' Connor said, with dawning realization, 'I have always – always adored you, I would be so grateful – I made a – a mistake years ago…'

'No.' Minerva shook her head. 'I'm sorry, but it's not possible.'

'Why not?' Connor asked, almost desperate.

'I do not care for you in that manner any more,' Minerva told him bluntly, 'and I am certain that I never will again.'

To Trudy's horror, Connor actually seemed to grow angry. 'You can't hold a grudge against me for a mistake I made years ago! It was wrong of me to ask you to give up your work, but –.'

Now Professor McGonagall was angry, and she drew the attention of the whole room, including Dumbledore. 'I do not hold anything against you. I do not love you.'

That blunt, painfully truthful sentence, rather than turning Connor away, made him grow even more enraged. 'You broke up with me because I made one mistake! One!' he shouted at her. There was a collective gasp around the room.

'No,' Professor McGonagall said, her face white, her nostrils flared. 'I broke up with you because you were an arrogant, sexist bastard!'

Connor's mouth dropped open. 'I cannot believe you! I was everything you needed, everything! I still am, and this is how you treat me?'

'You are making a fool of yourself,' Minerva said coldly. 'Leave while you can retain some dignity.'

'Connor,' Trudy was shocked to hear herself say, 'Connor, come with me. You've had too much to drink.'

'No!' Connor cried, quite impassioned. 'She is insulting me, refusing me, for no reason!' Trudy took his arm and pulled him away, but Connor pulled his arm from her grasp.

'There's someone else,' he said wildly, 'that must be it!' His eyes roamed the room and rested on Dumbledore.

'It's you!' he shouted, pointing at the Headmaster. 'You lied to me!'

'Do not bring Albus into this,' Minerva ordered. Connor turned around, along with Trudy, and froze. The expression on Minerva's face was terrible. She was quite obviously utterly furious. She advanced slowly.

'My decision to remain unattached is entirely independent of anyone else,' Minerva said with an awful coldness. 'I am disgusted that you think this of me, and I am repulsed by your behaviour. I ask you now to leave, and to behave in a more mature and appropriate manner the next time I see you.'

Trudy took Connor's arm and pulled him towards to the door. This time, he did not resist. 'I will expect a formal apology from you tomorrow, when you are sober,' Minerva continued, her mouth in a thin line, 'to me as well as to Albus.' Connor looked horrified but Trudy finally managed to push him out the door. She could not look Professor McGonagall in the face.

As the door swung shut behind her, she heard Minerva's voice one last time. 'Albus Dumbledore, if you apologize to me, I will resign from Hogwarts.'

**TBC**

_Hope you liked it, reviews please!_


	9. Cat Among the Pixies

**Cat Among the Pixies**

_I am SO sorry for the long delay, everyone! I got ridiculously busy and barely had enought time to sleep, let alone write. But here's the next chapter, hope you all enjoy, and thanks again for the great reviews!_

'Sweet Merlin.'

Connor lay in bed early the next morning, staring at his ceiling. His head pounded, but for once he doubted it was due to intoxication. He tried to shut his mind off, to keep from thinking, but the memory played over and over again like a haunted ghost he couldn't get rid of. He, for the first time in several years, truly hated himself.

He had managed to insult Minerva and accuse Dumbledore of lying at the same time. He had never been such a fool as he had at that moment. The memory itself was agony, like his very mind was on fire at the thought of it. He had loved Minerva, and he wanted to again, to get to know the passionate witch behind the mask as he had years ago. He pursued her, first with enthusiasm and eagerness, then with desperation as she continually refused him. How could he not have seen that she did not want him?

Connor groaned and pulled the covers over his head as Dumbledore's unruffled expression floated into his mind. He had accused Dumbledore of having an affair with Minerva. Dear Merlin, could it have gone any worse?

A soft knock at the door had him bolt-right up in bed. It opened slowly, and to his surprise, Trudy poked her head in. She was in her nightclothes and she was smiling tentatively. Connor stared at her.

'Trudy?' he asked. 'What are you doing here?'

Trudy looked embarrassed. 'I wasn't sure if you were going to be alright last night,' she confessed. 'So when I brought you back here, I decided to kip on your couch overnight. I hope you don't mind.'

Connor sank back down on his covers, never so grateful for Trudy. 'Of course I don't mind. You did me a favour, Tru. I'll repay you eventually.' He sighed, tired. 'Come in,' he offered. Trudy entered quietly and shut the door softly behind her.

There was a silence. Then; 'Trudy?' Connor asked feebly. 'Was it really terrible?' Trudy hesitated and wouldn't meet his eyes. 'Trudy?' Connor insisted.

'Yes,' she finally muttered. 'Yes, it was bad.' Connor winced, and Trudy, to his surprise, did not hasten to comfort him. He had expected that to be Trudy's response. There was only one explanation: Trudy was displeased with him too.

'Tru, I didn't mean to do it, I still can't believe that I – oh, God, Trudy, I completely humiliated myself. I can't imagine what Minerva thinks of me now, and Dumbledore – gods, Dumbledore! I'll be surprised if he doesn't give me the sack.'

Trudy still remained silent. Connor's agitation increased, his hurt and horror flooding out and he powerless to stop it.

'I've ruined any chances I may have had with Minerva. I loved her so much, Tru – I still can't believe what she called me! Did you hear? A sexist bastard, that's what she said, and conceited too! I was being a pig, I know, but still, I don't think she should've –.'

'Connor,' Trudy said carefully, 'I think Professor McGonagall may have had a point.' Connor felt his mouth drop open. Trudy was siding with Minerva? He knew he had acted somewhat inappropriately, but she was his cousin and he needed her support.

'Trudy, she was entirely unfair to me, you can't expect me to –.'

'Connor,' Trudy interrupted softly, 'you accused her of holding a grudge against you for fifty years.'

'Well, yes, but,' Connor began.

'Then,' Trudy continued, overriding him, 'you told her she was insulting you and turning you down for no reason.'

'Tru,' Connor began again, feebly.

'And,' Trudy finished, 'you accused Dumbledore of having an affair with her.'

Connor said nothing for a moment, and Trudy took the opportunity to speak to him gently. 'Connor,' she said softly, 'I don't want to downplay how embarrassed and disappointed you must feel right now, but…I don't wish to be insensitive, but this isn't all about you.'

'I think Professor McGonagall may be feeling…hurt,' Trudy continued carefully, praying to Merlin she was right. 'Some of what you said was…below the belt, so to speak.'

'Below the belt?' Connor repeated, finally speaking.

'It's a muggle expression,' Trudy explained. 'It means something was unfair, or harsh.' Trudy sighed. 'I just think that you ought to have been more careful. And,' she continued, 'I think you should apologize, as Professor McGonagall demanded – to her _and _to Dumbledore.'

Connor sat very still. Trudy's words pounded into his mind over and over, but he could not make sense of them. They whirled around, and Connor felt as though he sit there for hours and hours trying to figure it out. Distantly he sensed Trudy rise off the bed.

'I'm going back to my rooms, Connor,' she said softly. 'I'll see you later. Send for me if you need me, alright? Don't worry, I still love you.' She patted his hand tenderly before leaving the room, leaving Connor utterly motionless at the head of the bed.

* * *

Trudy walked down the hallways of the castle, hoping she didn't meet anyone. She was still dressed in just her nightclothes that she'd picked up from her rooms on the way to Connor's last night. They weren't embarrassing, but she definitely didn't want any students seeing her dressed like this.

Trudy was almost to her chambers when she heard a familiar, steady click of heels behind her. She froze, her face heating up and she delayed the moment for a second longer.

'Professor Crawford?' came Minerva McGonagall's voice. 'Might I have a word?'

Trudy's face could have been used to light a fire, she was certain, so hot was her skin. 'Of course,' she muttered to the floor. 'Do you mind coming in? I only need to change.' Oh Merlin, she could hardly look up from her slippers. Trudy respected Professor McGonagall more than any teacher in the school, and now she couldn't even meet her eyes.

'Thank you,' Professor McGonagall said, stepping inside. Trudy gestured to the couch, still speaking to the carpet.

'Um, just make yourself at home, Professor. I'll just be a moment.' Without waiting for an answer, Trudy hurried into her bedroom and changed as quickly as possible, not wanting to keep her guest waiting. She arrived back in the sitting room in record time to find Professor McGonagall sitting on the couch almost regally. To Trudy's surprise, she smiled when Trudy managed to meet her eyes. Rather than sit next to her, Trudy sat in the armchair next to the fire.

'Tea?' she offered, but Professor McGonagall shook her head. Of course, Trudy thought bitterly, she's here on business, not pleasure.

'Trudy,' Professor McGonagall said dryly, 'you can stop shaking. I'm not here to sack you.' Trudy gaped and clasped her hands together.

'I'm actually here,' Professor McGonagall continued, 'to thank you. I'm very, very grateful for your actions and comportment last night, not to mention highly impressed. I certainly do not blame you for your cousin's actions; in fact, I believe you were the reason they did not escalate into something worse. You certainly proved yourself a very capable woman and witch, and I'd actually like to apologize for treating you so distantly.'

Trudy's face was red again, but this time in pleasure. Professor McGonagall had never complimented Trudy so highly, and Trudy thought she would burst with pride.

'Thank you so much, Professor McGonagall!' Trudy said earnestly, meaning to continue, but the deputy cut her off.

'Please, do me a favour? Call me Minerva,' the tall witch requested with a smile. Trudy nodded eagerly.

'Of course, Prof – Minerva,' she agreed, for the first time comfortable with the thought.

'Where have you been?' Prof – no, Minerva – asked curiously, nodding her head towards the door. 'It's a bit early to be up and about.'

'Oh,' Trudy said, blushing again, 'oh, I was just with – with Connor. Just to make sure he wasn't going to, well, to do anything rash, I suppose.' Minerva raised her eyebrows.

'And did he?' she asked.

'No, no,' Trudy said hurriedly. 'I was just talking to him. He was being a bit…self-centered. I probably shouldn't be talking about it.' Trudy did feel slightly uncomfortable talking about last night; but truthfully, she didn't want to bring it up if Minerva felt uneasy discussing it, especially with her, Connor's cousin.

Minerva did not appear particularly self-conscious, however. 'I don't wish to slander him,' she told Trudy, 'both because he is a member of my staff and because he is your cousin and generally a good man. But,' she continued, 'he did behave inappropriately. I confess that it was a challenge for me, as well.'

'A challenge how?' Trudy questioned curiously. 'I think you handled it very well, considering.'

Minerva smiled ruefully. 'I'll be the first to scold a student for losing their temper and hexing another,' she said, which Trudy already knew. 'But to be honest, I had quite the problem with my temper when I was younger – and did for the rest of my life, in fact.' Trudy was surprised. She had heard that Minerva was very passionate, though she hadn't seen any evidence of it herself, but a temper problem?

'I worked very hard at controlling my temper as I got older,' Minerva told her, continuing the story. 'And to some degree, I did succeed. But there are still times when I _do _lose control, and someone has to intervene. Albus, usually.'

'Like when?' Trudy asked, and then mentally kicked herself for her rudeness. She was still unable to picture Minerva McGonagall, the strictest teacher in the school, losing her temper at someone.

'There was an incident, years ago, you may remember – Cedric Diggory was killed during the Triwizard Tournament, when it was held here at Hogwarts?' Trudy nodded; she'd heard of the tragedy.

'The minister, Cornelius Fudge, brought a Dementor to the castle, to the room where I was guarding the man Albus thought responsible for Diggory's death. Well, the Dementor,' she tripped slightly over the next few words, 'it preformed its – the Dementor's Kiss,' she said. 'It was horrible. And it was only Severus – Snape, sorry – that stopped me from hexing Fudge through the wall. Even afterwards, when we were all together, and Potter and his friends were present, I completely lost it. Shouting at Fudge, that sort of thing.' Trudy gaped, but quickly recovered.

'He would have deserved it, though!' Trudy defended Minerva. 'I mean, that would have been a horrible thing to have to witness, besides the fact that you just lost the murderer!'

Minerva nodded. 'But would you have cursed Fudge if you'd been present?' she asked, arching an eyebrow.

'Well,' Trudy hesitated, 'well, no, but –.'

'Exactly,' Minerva said wryly. 'A hot temper, as I said.' She shrugged and rose to her feet. 'I won't keep you, Trudy,' she said, heading for the door. 'Again, thank you. I shall see you at lunch.' Before Minerva could leave, Trudy called out.

'Minerva,' she said, hesitant, 'do you think Connor might…would the Headmaster – or even you – will he be sacked, do you think?'

Minerva actually laughed. 'Heavens, no,' she assured Trudy. 'Merlin knows Horace does enough inappropriate things for everyone when he is drunk. Connor will be fine.' Trudy nodded, comforted, and then Minerva really did leave.

Trudy wasn't exactly sure how much time she wasted, sitting on the couch with a stupid grin plastered on her face, but she later found she didn't much care.

* * *

Minerva swept down the hallway, careful not to allow her mind to wander. She trusted Trudy's belief that Connor was still in his rooms, but she was sure her sanity (and temper) wouldn't survive another run-in with him, so she stayed alert, hoping to hear any footsteps before their owner could appear.

As it happened, Minerva did hear someone coming five minutes later, as she neared her office. She tensed, her hand going to her wand automatically, before she remembered herself and stopped the motion. Her caution was abandoned almost immediately after, when she heard the person whistling. Minerva even recognized the tune after a moment, and nearly laughed. _Gille Calum, _an old Gaelic song, was traditionally a sword dance. Bran had attempted his own rendition of it when Minerva was eight, and had nearly impaled himself.

Sure enough, Bran rounded the corner, a grin lighting his face at the sight of his sister. 'Little Min! I was hoping to find you soon. I'm afraid I'm rather in danger of loss of feeling in my feet. It _is _a big castle, isn't it?' Minerva noticed a small crowd of students, who had evidently followed her brother to see who was. Minerva did not appreciate being called by her childhood nickname in front of her students.

'You're terribly out of shape, I'm afraid,' Minerva told her brother dryly. 'And for the last time, Bran, don't call me that ridiculous name.' But Bran, as always, seemed to be immune to her irritation.

'Fair enough,' he replied cheerfully. 'Fancy a walk, little sister?'

'Yes, yes, alright,' Minerva snapped. 'Hurry along,' she barked at her students, who scattered, no doubt itching to tell their peers that Professor McGonagall's brother was at Hogwarts, calling her 'little Min'.

'So, how are you, dear Minerva?' Bran asked, once they were outside. Minerva eyed him with narrowed eyes.

'Suspicious of your oddly buoyant behaviour,' Minerva replied swiftly, regarding her brother as she would a mischievous student.

''Tis a sad world, indeed, when happiness is an irregular behaviour,' Bran quipped back, hiding a smile. A few students lazing on the front lawn eyed him curiously.

'Time heals not quite so fast,' Minerva countered.

Bran laughed and admitted defeat. 'Alright, then, have it your way.' He grinned at Minerva, but told her nothing. Truth be told, he'd run into Poppy this morning and asked after Minerva. Poppy had quickly confided what had happened the night before between Connor and Minerva. While Bran felt sorry for his sister for having to deal with it, privately he was very pleased that she had rebutted Connor's advances. Bran had never liked the bloke.

Bran also nursed some _very _private suspicious about Minerva and Dumbledore. While he'd never actually questioned Minerva on the subject, he did sense that the two were much closer than they appeared. He'd always thought that, given the chance, Minerva could be very happy with Dumbledore. But that chance had never happened, and Minerva, in her own unconscious way, was actually preventing opportunities. Bran decided to do something he'd sworn never to do: interfere.

'You know, Minerva, that's your problem,' he said to her suddenly, or so it seemed to Minerva.

'My problem?' she repeated. 'And what might that be?'

'You're far too selfless,' he told her. 'You need to stop doing things for others, and start doing things for yourself.' Minerva raised her eyebrows.

'You are encouraging me to be selfish,' she said, more of a statement than a question, but Bran answered anyway.

'Yes,' he replied cheerfully. 'You've done more than any one person can be reasonably expected to do. Start living your life for you.' It was perhaps an odd statement to make to a seventy-year-old, but Bran liked it nonetheless. _The cat's among the pixies now, _he thought with satisfaction. He looked up and suppressed a curse. McKinley was hurrying towards them.

Minerva had seen him as well. 'Perfect,' she muttered, her lips thinning. Connor came up to them.

'Good morning Professor McGonagall, Mr McGonagall,' he greeted them awkwardly. Minerva nodded stiffly, but Bran made no move to acknowledge the greeting. He appraised McKinley coldly.

'I wondered if I might have a word, Professor?' he asked Minerva courteously, quite obviously being careful with his use of her title instead of her first name. Minerva hesitated, finally sighing and nodding.

'Very well,' she said. 'Bran, will you be here later?' Bran frowned, but nodded.

'I'll meet you in your rooms later, Min,' he told her. He nodded stiffly to McKinley and departed. Minerva watched him go, almost feeling regretful. She would have appreciated his back up.

'Minerva,' Connor began with no preamble, 'I wish to keep this as short as possible, and I apologize for cutting into your time with your brother.' Minerva silently accepted the truth of his statement.

'Minerva, I wish to apologize for my inappropriate behaviour last night. It was very unprofessional of me, and what I said was entirely out of line. I never wished to hurt you, and I am sorry if I did.' Minerva still said nothing.

She couldn't very well tell Connor that it wasn't herself she was worried for; it was her friendship with Albus that was in jeopardy. Minerva really needed to watch her relationships, though admittedly this _was _the first time a sour one had come back to haunt her.

Finally, Minerva replied. 'I'm sure I don't have to tell you how disappointed I am,' she said brusquely, not looking at Connor. He shook his head, looking sheepish. 'And I'm sure it won't happen again,' she added, leaving the sentence open for him to finish.

'It won't, Minerva, I give you my word,' said Connor hastily. Minerva nodded, but was not yet satisfied. She would do the thing properly, or not at all.

'And Connor,' she said, 'you must understand that while you may have been in a slightly impaired state last night, I was not. I meant everything I said, you understand.' Connor hesitated, but finally nodded. Minerva hoped he accepted her refusal this time, and wouldn't track her down again in another fifty years.

Minerva took her leave of Connor and headed back inside. She wouldn't want life to be boring, Minerva told herself wryly, but was a little peace every now and then too much to ask?

TBC

_Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to review! :D_


	10. Internal Lion

_In order to apologize for my unforgivable lack of updates, I give you this chapter! Please enjoy and forgive me! :)_

**Internal Lion**

Poppy Pomfrey was in her office, doing paperwork. She, like all others at the school, had never spent an entire summer at Hogwarts, and hadn't been all that sure what to do with her time. So she had filled it with work, rather like Minerva. She knew that most of the others had done the same. This was the most paperwork-ready year the staff had ever had.

A tentative knock at the door made her look up. 'Come in,' she called, curious, for she knew that if it were Minerva or Pomona, or even Filius or Horace, they would have just walked right in. That made it either Connor, Trudy, Dumbledore, or Filch. She highly doubted the last.

The door opened, and Connor stood in the doorway. Poppy raised her eyebrows as she stood to greet him. 'Professor McKinley?' she questioned almost sternly. Although the two did not appear especially close during term, Poppy was fiercely loyal to Minerva, and was highly disapproving of Connor's actions of the night before.

'Madam Pomfrey,' Connor said politely. 'I was wondering if I might have a word?' Poppy nodded, gesturing towards the chair opposite her desk, where many a tearful students had sat, explaining how they'd ended up with deer's antlers or one too many limbs. Connor sank into the chair, ignorant of its history, with a thank-you.

Poppy was suddenly reminded of Minerva's warning that Connor could be rather bold one-on-one. Her eyes narrowed. Connor did not appear especially intimidated.

'I was looking for Trudy,' he began, 'but I can't seem to find her. I wonder if you could help me?'

'I'll certainly do my best,' Poppy replied briskly, cleaning parchments off her desk.

'I saw Professor McGonagall this morning,' Connor said carefully, watching Poppy closely. 'I am of course reluctant to discuss her or matters concerning her behind her back, but…' he trailed off.

'Yes?' Poppy prompted, expecting a reasonable excuse.

'I'm sorry to approach you like this,' Connor said, and he actually seemed truly remorseful. 'But I need your help, as a friend of Minerva's…this has to do with her.' Poppy raised her eyebrows. 'And myself,' Connor finally added. Poppy sighed. She normally refused to talk about anyone behind their back, especially Minerva, but she sensed that this might actually be doing her dear friend a favour.

'Perhaps we ought to move into my sitting room,' Poppy sighed, giving in.

'Thank you,' Connor said, relieved, his face shining with gratitude.

When the two had settled comfortably, and Poppy had offered Connor some tea, he finally began.

'I won't talk of my previous relationship with Minerva,' he said, cautiously, 'except to say that I gained a great of confidence and happiness from it. When Minerva ended it – and I'm not ashamed to say that it was her decision – I searched for excuses, reasons why she had done so. Anything but the truth, I suppose: that she simply did not love me anymore. If I'm being honest, I'll say that I had sensed her growing a little distant in the months leading up to the fight – did she tell you why we broke up?' At Poppy's quick nod, Connor continued.

'When I discovered that she worked here, I was so…enthralled.' Connor blushed a bit at the word, but Poppy admired his gut. 'I immediately envisioned the two of us together again; I was so confident that she would fall for me again. Her refusal…it was a slap in the face.' Here, his expression twisted before smoothing out in a rueful smile. 'This morning, Trudy came to see me, and I'll admit to being self-centered when she spoke to me – the very thing Minerva accused me of being, not only last night, but fifty years ago as well.' Poppy swallowed, maintaining silence.

'I just want to make sure,' Connor finally said, looking desperate, 'that there's absolutely no chance she'll consider me again…d'you think?' Connor looked so heart-broken Poppy wished she could give a different reply, but her friendship with Minerva prompted her next few words.

'Connor,' she said gently, 'I would very much advise you to leave Minerva alone, at least in that sense.' Connor's face fell, and he hung his head, looking like a little boy who'd just been told he couldn't have biscuits before dinner. 'Surely you know Minerva well enough to see that she never goes back on her decisions?' Connor swallowed.

'I must be in denial,' he joked weakly, and Poppy smiled, but braced herself for the next words she knew she must say. This was going to be harsh, she knew, but Minerva had said the same thing to Poppy, nearly word for word, the night before.

'There is no chance of the two of you again,' she told Connor as gently as she could. 'I'm sorry.' Connor closed his eyes for a moment before appearing to pull himself together.

'Thank you for your help, Poppy,' he said, rising quickly. 'I won't waste anymore of your time.' Before Poppy could say a word, he had left.

Poppy sighed and returned to her office. She glanced unwillingly at her desk, but sat down and picked up her quill, putting her encounter with Connor to the back of her mind.

Ten minutes later, Poppy gave it up as a bad job. She was unable to focus on her work, and so decided to go for a walk to stretch her legs. Perhaps she would run into Pomona or Filius, she mused. There had to be someone in this castle who could carry on a casual conversation.

* * *

Casual was a word not part of Minerva's current vocabulary. She was outside still, though her company had left her a good twenty minutes before. She had stopped just short of the front doors, from where she was originally headed, and paused. Her childhood, spent in northern Scotland, had thickened her blood to the point that students near her, bundled in cloaks, scarves, and hats, wondered at her as they hurried inside, the elevated wind whipping at their backs.

Minerva was a witch capable of balancing large amounts of responsibility without feeling the effects of stress. Indeed, for the past few years she'd been Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration teacher, Head of House and active member of the Order of the Phoenix. That she could handle well, even easily, so why was she only now feeling overwhelmed, when a good portion of her duties were not applicable?

'Ridiculous,' she muttered to herself. The sound her own voice shook her from her pensive state. Drawing herself to the present, she only then noticed the biting cold. Pulling her robes around her, she hurried inside.

Perhaps it was because she was dealing with situations directly involving her, Minerva mused. The Order, being deputy, teaching; all were duties in which others relied on her. Minerva was used to taking charge, having tasks thrust upon her; what she was not accustomed to was the sudden disarray her personal life was in.

Minerva reached her office and went inside. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she pulled a piece of parchment from her desk, took up her quill and ink, and wrote a list, entitling it _Organization. _The list included all of the reasons that she felt stressed and unprepared.

_1. Connor McKinley desired a relationship._

_2. He accused Albus of ruining his chances._

_3. Albus was already sensitive to this fact._

_4. Bran advises selfishness._

_5. Albus' friendship is important._

After a slight hesitation, Minerva added _more so than usual _to the last item. Her self-conscious feelings negated the use of personal pronouns on her list.

Categorizing her feelings was a strategy Minerva often used, and while she knew it did not always entirely solve her problems, this was the first time it did not make her feel at least marginally better.

She sighed, charming the note so that only she could read it, then banishing it to her private adjacent rooms. Perhaps, she thought, Connor would come to his senses. Trudy, bless her sensible heart, could help with that, no doubt. The problem with Albus, she would have to deal with herself. It would be embarrassing, she thought, to have to state bluntly that she did not want Connor, nor any other man at the moment, but she was not a Gryffindor for nothing.

As to Bran's advised selfishness, well, really, what did he expect? Doing for herself was not something that came naturally to her, and Minerva was a good enough person not to want to try. Besides, she was a teacher, the very essence of which was helping others.

There was a knock on her office door. Minerva rose to her feet and opened it.

'Mr Peakes?' she asked, raising her eyebrows at the short, thick-set fifth year. Minerva knew he had made the Gryffindor Quidditch team this year, as he had for the past two.

'Professor,' Jimmy replied somewhat sheepishly as Minerva allowed him into her office. 'Um, well,' he hesitated, looking nervous. Minerva sighed to herself.

'I take it that this has to do with the glaring lack of your Transfiguration essay amidst the twenty others I collected on Friday?' she asked sharply. Jimmy, sitting in the chair opposite her desk, swallowed.

'I'm really sorry, Professor,' he said hurriedly. 'We had Quidditch practice on Thursday, and it went really late. Ginny's a great captain,' said Peakes hastily, 'but she's really determined. We all are,' he added, looking horrified at the thought that his Head of House might not think him sufficiently serious about Quidditch.

Minerva stood. 'I do not tolerate lateness in my class, Peakes,' she said severely. 'No excuses are to be made except for fatalities. And as you look in excellent health to me…'

'But, Professor,' Jimmy said desperately, 'our first match is this week! I've got to train!'

'I suggest that next time, you allow me the discretion of how much homework you ought to be doing,' Minerva suggested brusquely. 'I will take five points from Gryffindor.' Jimmy hung his head, defeated. 'I will give you until Monday to finish the essay, Peakes,' Minerva continued. Jimmy lifted his head, a look of hope dawning on his features. 'You will, I trust, have it finished by then, or I will remove you to detention.' Peakes nodded eagerly.

'Of course, Professor!' he said. 'Thank you!' Minerva nodded.

'I also expect a definitive lack of a repeat performance,' Minerva said briskly, walking around her desk and holding the door open for her students. Peakes nodded enthusiastically again and raced off down the corridor to start his essay – or so Minerva hoped.

Returning to her desk, Minerva almost summoned the list she had made to add _Quidditch_ to it, but something stopped her. Quidditch could never be a burden, at least to her.

Minerva stood up and stretched with decidedly feline movements. She collected her wand and bag and exited the room, locking the door behind her with a wave of her wand. Her hair, though worn in a ponytail or thick plait during the summer, was twisted into a tight bun, and was beginning to give her a headache. A cup of tea in the staffroom would hopefully remedy that, along with a bit of luck.

Luck, it seemed, was not on Minerva's side today. The staffroom was depressingly empty but for two teachers: Trudy and Connor. Lovely. Having no choice now but to enter, Minerva strode to the back of the room where a table was set with a kettle, charmed to keep its water hot, and several tins with an assortment of drink powders. Minerva selected a tea bag of her favourite brand. While she waited for it to steep (she liked her tea strong) she set her bag down on the nearest armchair and removed her pointed hat.

Connor was studiously avoiding Minerva's gaze, but Trudy gave her an awkward smile. Minerva returned it slightly with somewhat more success, but turned back to her cup of tea, now ready, and sipped at it, relishing the warmth it spread through her body.

Perhaps it was the caffeine, but Minerva felt bold enough to take a seat in the armchair next to Trudy (though still a decent distance from Connor), pushing her bag over slightly to make room. She took another swallow of tea, feeling marginally better than she had upon arrival. Then, it happened.

A chain of events is a series of actions that are contiguous and associated with each other. When the events are positive, productive, and helpful, a chain of events proves to be a wonderful thing. When the actions are negative, counter-productive, and unhelpful, the chain is resultantly terrible, with unfortunate consequences for those involved. A chain of events also has three parts: the trigger, the middle, and the conclusion. The trigger is a deed that sets off the chain, so that the next follows without fail, never ceasing until the denouement. In this case the trigger was thus:

A house-elf, a cheerful one named Ferry, who serves the staff, fell ill. She was unable to serve the staff member whose beck and call she must answer to. This resulted in a certain teacher's depletion of their sherry stash, thus necessitating said teacher's descent from their lodgings to the staffroom. Then the door opened; Sybil Trelawney floated in as if on wheels; Minerva's good mood vanished.

'Good afternoon, my esteemed colleagues,' came Trelawney's misty voice, for which Minerva had less than no patience.

'Good afternoon, Sybil,' said the ever-cheerful Trudy. 'This is a pleasant surprise.' Minerva found this statement highly debatable, and bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying so.

'I was crystal ball gazing,' said Trelawney mysteriously, 'and saw, through my Inner Eye, something that can only be described as –.'

'The sherry's on the table, Sybil,' Minerva snapped, cutting ruthlessly into Trelawney's speech. 'Unless there was something else you wanted?' Minerva was personally slightly proud of the fact that it was only herself that could reduce Sybil's mysterious act to nothing more than irritation.

'Thank you, Minerva,' replied the Divination teacher frostily. 'I appreciate your sensitivity in such matters, especially those concerning my delicate Inner Eye.' Minerva raised her eyebrows. Sybil had resorted to sarcasm? Minerva was improving in her ability to annoy the fraud; she couldn't say she'd ever heard of the normally-aloof witch stoop to sarcasm. A slight clinking sound echoed throughout the room as Trelawney faced the table, her back to the others.

'My dear Trudy,' Sybil began again, once she had finished, obviously going out of her way to address Trudy specifically. 'I noticed you with some handsome man, why, it was only a week ago. He was tall in stature, with hair dark as the night, pale complexion, and features quite similar, but that I could not place. I took the liberty of reading the cards for you, and saw, to my dismay, that –.' Trudy glanced at Minerva, whose raised eyebrows indicated that she had indeed recognized the description.

'It was Professor McGonagall's brother, Sybil,' Trudy told Trelawney. 'Bran McGonagall. He works here on weekends; in fact, he's here today.' Did Trudy's cheeks appear slightly pink, or was it a trick of the light?

'Indeed?' said Trelawney, visibly affronted and obviously annoyed that the striking man was the sibling of Minerva. 'I suspect, then, that he may not be appreciative of the subtle art of Divination?'

'Why ever would you think that?' said Minerva dryly. 'Or are you merely assuming that my dear brother has possession, perhaps through genetics, of at least a modicum of common sense?' Trelawney rose to her full height, obviously angry, but her fury was only amusing as opposed to frightening.

'Minerva, you once again fail to sympathise with the fragile nature of Seers. I feel certain that if you had ever been capable of offspring, no potential Seer heritage could possibly have survived contact with your sceptical blood!'

'Thank Merlin for that,' Minerva replied back frostily, her eyes never leaving those of the Divination teacher.

With a sniff and a flounce, Sybil swept dramatically out of the room, though the effect was ruined slightly by the clanking of sherry bottles she hid in her robes.

There was a silence, broken moments later by Connor's quiet chuckling. Minerva relaxed, surprised that Connor could make her feel anything but tense.

'Trudy,' Minerva said to the Muggle Studies teacher, 'your patience is endless.' Trudy smiled, and Minerva hoped that she had not disgraced herself in Trudy's eyes.

'I daresay it'll run out after a few years,' Trudy replied with a smile.

'Mine certainly has,' Minerva said, finishing off her tea. 'I didn't realize you saw Bran last weekend,' she commented, merely as a conversation piece.

To her surprise, Trudy flushed slightly, and Connor laughed. Minerva's eyebrows raised of their own accord as she looked from one to the other, stopping on Connor, as he seemed the most likely to provide information. Connor, being male, did not notice Trudy's vain attempts at a subtle shaking of the head to discourage him from whatever he was about to say.

'Trudy's rather fond of your brother,' Connor said with a grin to Minerva. 'A bit more than you think, I'd reckon.' Trudy looked torn between wanting to hit her cousin, dying from embarrassment, and fleeing the room. She compromised by throwing Connor a violent glare and avoiding Minerva's gaze as she blushed. Minerva swallowed.

All teachers needed to be rather good actors; the two skills simply went hand in hand. Minerva was rather practiced at it, but this, as she later called it, was her finest moment.

'Really?' she said, with a slight smile. 'I can't say I noticed before. He is charming, isn't he?' Trudy looked up, awkward but grateful, though clearly wishing to be left alone with Connor.

'Well, I just came for some tea,' Minerva said, standing, 'so I'll be off now. See you at dinner.' She left, closing the door behind her. From inside the room came the faint sounds of someone getting hit repeatedly with a pillow.

Alone in her rooms, Minerva took her list of reasons she was stressed and stared at it for a moment. Then, very calmly, she placed it in the middle of the floor and drew her wand. A quick flick, and the parchment was on fire.

She felt like screaming.

* * *

Dumbledore hummed cheerfully to himself as he strode along the corridor. He smiled at students he passed, greeting everyone with his customary smile and twinkling eyes. Honestly, however, he was outwardly more cheerful that he felt.

He was not, he knew, sad or angry. No, the word that came to mind was _conflicted. _He'd felt angry, a sentiment he rarely truly experienced, when Connor had verbally assaulted Minerva the night before. Minerva was more than capable of fighting her own battles, of asserting her independence. During her cold speech to Connor, she had looked impressive: tall, regal, and confident. But afterwards, she had glanced at Albus almost fearfully.

Upon reflection, it wasn't particularly difficult to see why, though the reason still baffled Albus. When Minerva had forced him, over the summer, to promise that he would not allow a man to come between them, she had looked almost anxious. When Connor had done nothing more than to occasionally ask her out, she had relaxed, that much he could see. Then Connor had specifically accused Albus of having an affair with Minerva, and Minerva had looked frightened.

So, Albus concluded, their relationship was much more important to her than he had originally realized. He knew, of course, how much their relationship meant to _him_, but apparently he'd slightly underestimated on how much he meant to her. He felt arrogant admitting it, but he knew it to be true.

Albus heard voices around the corner and perked up upon hearing a familiar Scottish brogue.

'No, Miss Langley, a problem with your boyfriend does not constitute a legitimate reason for not doing your homework for the second week in a row,' came Minerva's exasperated voice. 'If you badger me one more time about it, I shall add to your week's detention.'

A young girl with fly-away blonde hair flew around the corner, so agitated she did not see the Headmaster as she fled past him. Albus, knowing Minerva was under a good deal of personal stress at the moment, hurried to the corner, and encountered a very irritated deputy.

'Professor McGonagall,' he greeted her formally, aware that there might be students about. She looked up, and he was startled to see how tired she was. She hadn't looked this drawn and thin in years.

'Headmaster,' she replied, somewhat stiffly. He doubted it had to with him, but rather irritation with everyone in general.

'I spoke with the Governors this morning,' he told her. 'They agreed to review the budget for any, ah, mistakes they may have made the first time.' He knew Minerva had been incensed that the school governors had cut their budget, leaving behind little room for emergency necessities.

'Good, thank you,' she replied shortly. Goodness, she really was exhausted.

A quick glance around showed there to be no students. 'Minerva, my dear, are you alright? You look utterly done in –.'

'I'm _fine_, Albus!' Minerva exploded. 'Stop asking! I've got quite enough to deal with without you badgering me! Leave me deal, please! I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself!' she shouted. 'Why must you always interfere? This has nothing to do with you! Leave me be!' Then she stopped, shocked, breathing heavily as they stared at each other.

'Of course, Minerva, I apologize. Have a lovely day, my dear.' With a small, very forced smile and a slight inclination of his head, Albus left, feeling older than he had in years.

* * *

Professor Sprout was striding along the corridors. She'd gone to the Headmaster's office to tell him that the new order of dragon manure had arrived, but he hadn't been there. As she passed Minerva's rooms, she decided to stop by and see her friend. They hadn't chatted in a while.

As had become custom decades ago when the two witches had become good friends, Pomona did not bother knocking, but simply entered Minerva's sitting room.

'Minerva?' she called, 'Minerva, are you –.' Pomona stopped. Minerva was sitting on the couch, face in her hands.

'Minerva, are you alright?' Pomona hurried forwards, nearly tripping over the coffee table as she sat next to her friend. She put a hand on Minerva's shoulder and was utterly shocked to find it shaking. 'Dear Minerva – what's happened?'

Minerva raised her head, looking devastated, her chest heaving with hyperventilation. She could not slow her breathing to speak.

'It's alright, Minerva,' Pomona said soothingly, rubbing the witch's shoulder. 'Calm down, love, everything is fine.' It was rare that Minerva ever had need of comfort, but it was obvious that she needed it now. It was a few minutes before Minerva was able to speak.

'Oh, Pomona, it was – it was terrible,' Minerva gasped. 'I can't believe – gods, I was so – so awful…' Pomona continued to rub Minerva's shoulder comfortingly, letting her tell the story without interruption.

'Is it Albus?' Pomona asked gently. Minerva nodded, and, to Pomona's thorough shock, started weeping, tears streaming down her face.

'He was so kind, Pomona – so gentle,' Minerva sobbed. 'I was a complete bitch to him.' She gasped again, still crying. Pomona stared. She never, ever, heard Minerva say that word before. 'He just asked if I was – feeling alright, I look so terrible. Thin and – and tired.' Pomona shook her head, but did not interrupt.

'I was horrible,' Minerva wept. 'Shouted at him, completely exploded. God, if he never speaks to me again, I'll have deserved it – and worse!' Pomona sighed, moving her hand in slow circles on Minerva's back.

'Minerva, listen to me, please,' she requested softly. Minerva wiped her face with the hem of her robe and quieted. 'Minerva, darling, I won't pretend that that what you said didn't hurt Dumbledore. But it's the truth that he will forgive you. He probably already has.' Minerva nodded, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes.

'I think that you should tell me why you behaved so,' Pomona told Minerva gently. 'I'm afraid I don't fully understand.' Minerva actually gave a small laugh, albeit a wet one.

'I don't either,' she confessed. 'It might be…well, I don't know.'

Pomona hesitated. 'I think it's easier to hurt the ones that are closest to you,' she said. Minerva gave a half-laugh, half-sob, and nodded.

'Why is that?' she muttered, pulling her hair down to redo it, but not really expecting an answer.

'Maybe because you know they'll always love you,' Pomona said quietly. Minerva froze, her hair down about her shoulders, staring at her friend in shock.

'Pomona…' Sprout smiled at Minerva. 'You can't possibly mean…' Minerva trailed off.

'You can't tell me you don't love him, Minerva,' Pomona prodded. 'It's rather obvious, isn't it?' Minerva said nothing, and Pomona could see that she was thinking.

Was that it? Could that be the reason Albus' friendship was suddenly so important? Connor's arrival had made for more tension than Minerva had ever felt between two people – but it couldn't possibly be romantic tension, could it?

Minerva, in a very rare gesture, put her arms around Pomona and kissed her cheek. Pomona accepted the motion with a fond smile and returned it. 'Minerva, you know that anytime you need to talk, I'm here for you.'

It hadn't been a question, but Minerva replied anyway, rapidly regaining her usual brisk manner. 'I do now,' she replied, standing. 'Thank you, Pomona, for everything. I think.' Pomona laughed and rose to her feet as well.

'Where are you going?' she asked as Minerva fixed her hair and headed for the door.

Minerva looked back. 'To see Albus,' she said after a moment. 'To apologize.'

After all, she wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

**TBC**

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	11. Reconciliation

Ch. 11 **Reconciliation **

Minerva stood in front of the stone gargoyle, not moving. She must look odd, she knew, simply staring at the wall, but she didn't particularly care what students would think if they saw her here. She was, however, slightly ashamed of herself for giving in to such cowardice. The ugly stone creature in front of her eyed her curiously.

Finally, she said the password and stepped slowly onto the revolving staircase. She stood on just one step, allowing it to bring her to the top. In other, more pressing situations she'd dashed up the stairs as they moved, but she was in no rush today.

When she reached the door, she wondered what she would do if Dumbledore wasn't there. Would it even be physically possible for her to go through all of this again? She raised a hand and knocked, staring at the door with a strange calmness that, she sensed, would abandon her when the door opened – if it did.

She didn't have long to wait. The door opened of its own accord, as always, and she took one step into the doorway and stopped, unsure if she ought to go further.

It was ironic, really. She'd gone to such lengths to ensure that her friendship with Albus would hold, would remain stable. She'd confronted him, talked to him, done everything she could to make sure that they would remain close when Connor's arrival had threatened the ease that their friendship possessed. And yet, she'd made this chasm herself. Now she wasn't even able to enter the room.

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, half-moon spectacles perched on his long nose, magnificent silver hair and beard gleaming, and looking older than she had ever seen. Her heart clenched with the thought that it was she who had caused it.

But then a small, crooked, almost amused smile cracked the ancient face, and the laugh lines around his eyes seemed more prominent. 'You may come in, Minerva.'

'Of course,' she muttered, crossing the threshold. While Albus' smile had eased the tension somewhat, there was no denying that the uncomfortable feeling remained. She made no move to take the seat across his desk, as he had indicated, but instead clasped her hands together and stared at a point just to the side of his head. 'I can come back later, if you are busy, Headmaster,' she said, hating her formality.

'Not at all, Professor,' he replied gravely. 'What can I do for you?' Minerva swallowed.

'May I talk to you for a moment?' she asked, almost tentatively, which shook her, because she was not a timid person in the least. Dumbledore regarded her thoughtfully for a moment.

'Of course,' he replied, with a smile, and the knot in Minerva's stomach lessened the slightest bit. 'Would you care to take this into my sitting room?' he offered, seeming to sense where her hesitation came from. She nodded, and he led the way to a door she knew to connect his private rooms to his office. She was uncomfortably aware of the portraits watching her curiously.

When they had settled in his sitting room and she had shaken her head at his offer of tea, he watched her closely, waiting for her to begin. She swallowed, hating herself for what she had said. As the memory resurfaced, a lump rose in her throat, and she knew was dead.

'Albus –,' Minerva finally managed, and to her own horror, her voice cracked on the syllable and she bowed her head. Her eyes shone as they filled with tears, glistening like moonlight on a calm lake. The uncomfortable feeling in her throat did not go away.

'Dear Minerva,' Albus said softly, and he took her gently into her arms for the first time.

Minerva broke down. He tucked her head into his shoulder and held her shaking frame. 'Oh, Minerva,' he whispered. She tried to stop the tears filling her eyes, but her own words – _Why must you always interfere?_ – came back to her.

Minerva lifted her head. 'Albus, please forgive me,' she pleaded, tears trickling down her cheeks. 'I am so, so sorry! I can't believe – I don't know why I –.' Albus shushed her softly and tightened his arms around her.

'I forgive you, Minerva,' he told her, knowing that was what she needed to hear. 'Of course I forgive you.' She released a shaking breath and nodded. He pulled a handkerchief from his robes and, instead of handing it to her, gently wiped her face. 'Do stop crying,' he comforted. 'You are overreacting, my dear,' he told her with a smile.

Minerva raised her head. He loosened his arms in case she wanted to move away, but she made no move to do so. 'No, really, Albus! I was utterly uncouth. You didn't deserve that, and especially not from me.' Dumbledore said nothing, and the two simply sat there in silence for a time, Minerva wrapped in Dumbledore's arms.

The grandfather clock on the wall chimed five o'clock, and Minerva sighed. She'd never been so comfortable in her life. She wondered if it was wrong to enjoy this, to like the feel of his arms around her. Suddenly, Albus pulled away. Minerva looked at him. He was smiling.

'Make it up to me, Minerva,' he said. She swallowed; she wanted nothing more.

'How?' she asked, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly cold, missing the warmth that had come from the man sitting next to her.

'Come to dinner with me,' he said. 'We'll talk, and perhaps then you will truly tell me what is bothering you, and allow me to help you. We will have plenty of undisturbed time; just what we need.'

Minerva opened her mouth to decline, for she really had no time, and then closed it again without speaking. She had just remembered her brother's words. _Start living your life for you_. She suddenly understood what he'd been trying to say.

'That sounds like a fine idea,' Minerva said instead, smiling despite herself. 'When?' Dumbledore smiled, looking genuinely happy at her acceptance.

'Leave everything to me, Minerva,' he told her. 'Just tell me: Muggle or wizard restaurant?' Minerva debated. If she chose Muggle, she'd have to dress like one, and not talk about magic. However, if she chose wizarding, it was highly likely they would see someone they knew, and undisturbed time _was _what she needed.

So she shrugged, unsure. Albus surveyed her for a moment, and then nodded as if he'd understood something. He stood, and so did she. 'Never mind,' he said. 'I'll work it out. Shall we go to dinner?' Minerva nodded, and turned to go, wiping the last of the traitor tears off her cheeks. But Albus did not move, and when she turned around to face him, he extended his hand. She took it, and he pulled her towards him in a tight embrace. Her own wrapped loosely around his neck and shoulders. She lowered her head; the right side of her face pressed her against her own arm, the left side buried in his shoulder. They stayed like that for a moment, then, with nothing more a smile, went down to dinner.

Professor Flitwick was making his way to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore had asked to see him after dinner, doubtlessly to discuss some issue or other. Flitwick had had little objection, and so here he was.

'Good evening, Professor!' called one of his young students, while her friend waved. Flitwick beamed and waved back. He truly loved teaching, and knew deep down that this was his calling. He'd heard before from others that students often thought his energy and patience seemed endless, but in truth it came to him with very little effort. Sometimes he felt like someone had cast _wingardium leviosa _on his mood, he felt so light.

Flitwick continued to Albus' office, thinking of the changes that been wrought on Hogwarts. Sometimes, it felt like his life force was tied to the school, and he knew that some of the other, more senior teachers felt the same. Minerva, for one, certainly did. She'd been here for ages, been one of the youngest teachers the castle had seen. Now, of course, she was simply one the most solidly present, dependable people in the castle. He knew that Minerva deeply loved her subject, that she could admit freely. What was harder for her to confess was how much she cared for her students. It had been Flitwick's personal experience that a good glass of strong scotch was particularly effective in loosening her tongue.

'Filius?' Flitwick turned and smiled brightly at Pomona, who'd just rounded the corner. She was another one who truly enjoyed teaching, though her affection for her students was much more noticeable.

'Good evening, Pomona,' Filius squeaked. 'Where have you been?' he asked, noting her rosy cheeks.

'I've just come from the Owlery,' Pomona explained. 'I've almost run out of fertilizer, and my third years are going to need some within the next week or so.'

'Dragon dung?' Flitwick squeaked, trying to hide a smile. It was common knowledge that Pomona's preferred fertilizer was also the smelliest.

'I see you smirking, Filius! As a matter of fact, yes, I did just place an order for dragon dung. I'll have you know it is the best fertilizer there is, as any decent Herbologist knows,' Pomona sniffed, but the smile on her face betrayed her. 'Where are you going?'

'Dumbledore's,' Filius replied cheerfully. 'Then it's off to my office for the detention I gave Pickering and Stammers the other day.'

'Those two again?' Pomona asked. She sighed. 'I'll have to do something about them, that's their fourth detention this month.' Filius smiled at her.

'Don't worry, Pomona,' he reassured her. 'I rarely get trouble from the Hufflepuffs. These two seem to be trying for the Weasley twin's vacant position.' Pomona laughed but shook her head.

'I honestly don't know how Minerva handles it,' she said wonderingly. 'The Weasleys, Harry Potter and his crew, the Creeveys…and remember Black, Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew? They nearly drove _me _mad, and they weren't even in my House!' Filius laughed outright until they arrived at the stone gargoyle.

'Well, I shall see you later, then, Filius,' Pomona said. 'Have a nice night.' Filius returned the sentiment before giving the password and mounting the spiral staircase.

The office, at least from the outside of the door where Flitwick was standing, seemed unusually silent. He knew that the portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses were duty bound to help the current head of the school, and they were rarely silent. Unless, of course, they were pretending to be asleep. Flitwick knocked.

'Good evening, Filius,' came Dumbledore's cheerful voice. Yesterday, the Headmaster had looked almost ill, but tonight…well, tonight he looked happier than he had in a long time. Filius wondered if that had something to do with this meeting.

Once Filius was seated in the chair opposite Dumbledore's desk, his legs dangling a foot off the ground, Dumbledore explained.

'I have a favour to ask of you, Filius,' Dumbledore began. 'I will be absent from the school next Friday, and I wonder if you could act as head for the few hours that I will be gone.' Filius did not understand, but he was quick to agree.

'Of course, Albus,' he squeaked in reply. 'I thought, though, that it is normally the deputy's responsibility? What about Minerva?'

'Ah,' said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling, 'you are right, of course, in that Minerva is usually the one to take my place. However, Professor McGonagall will also be absent from the school at that time.' Filius beamed. While Dumbledore was sometimes vague in his answers, his twinkling, mischievous eyes told Filius his suspicions were correct. Minerva and Albus were going out to dinner.

'We shouldn't be too long, I think,' Dumbledore continued, further confirming Filius' thoughts. 'I would not normally approach you, but simply in case of an emergency…' Albus trailed off, looking thoughtful. 'If it is too much trouble, Filius, I am sure I can –.'

'Oh, no, that's perfectly fine, Albus,' Flitwick hastened to reassure the headmaster. 'Of course, go out for an evening. Have a good time with – well, I mean, have a good time.' Dumbledore chuckled.

'May I offer you a nightcap, Filius?' Albus said, shuffling the papers littering his desk. Filius could really have used a fruity strawberry syrup with soda and ice just then, as he felt particularly buoyant, but he did have those detentions. He shook his head.

'I have a detention tonight,' he squeaked by way of explanation. 'Good night, Albus.'

'Good night, Filius,' Albus returned with a warm smile. Flitwick jumped down from the chair and left the office.

Flitwick was almost to his own office when he heard voices. Not wishing to interrupt, he turned to go another way, when he heard Minerva's name in the conversation – a conversation she was definitely not part of.

'How, Connor?' came Trudy's surprisingly angry voice. 'Tell me how any of that made sense to you, because it sure as hell makes no sense to me.'

'Tru, you're making a big deal of nothing!' said Professor McKinley. 'You saw Minerva, she seemed fine with it.'

'You are such a _man_!' snapped Trudy. 'Of course she's not fine with it! Women don't like being told that someone fancies their brother – someone much younger than them and the cousin of the person she used to date!'

Filius frowned. No wonder Minerva had been so uptight lately. Trudy was interested in Bran, and from what Filius was hearing, Connor had told Minerva himself. He shook his head. The man really was thick sometimes.

'Why are you so touchy? What's it to Minerva if you like her brother?' Connor snapped, adding maliciously, 'The age difference can't bother her that much, for Merlin's sake, she's shagged Dumbledore, and he's ancient, isn't he?'

Filius sucked in his breath and would have hexed Connor himself if Trudy hadn't beaten him to it. A loud slap echoed down the corridor as Trudy's hand made contact with her cousin's cheek. Then the sound of angry footsteps reached his ears, thankfully going in the opposite direction. Without further ado, Filius turned and scurried away.


	12. A Burden Halved

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**_A Burden Halved _**

Minerva considered her reflection. The witch in the mirror looked back at her critically, as if the only thing on her mind was her appearance. Minerva shifted her robes and frowned, smoothing her hair out of her face.

She had _not _dressed up. Really. Her robes were casual, comfortable. They were warm and practical. There was nothing at all remarkable about them, unless one accounted for the fact that they were not teaching robes. She rolled her shoulders and looked at herself again.

She was wearing dark maroon robes and her black dragonskin gloves, with her soft black cloak ready and waiting by the door. Her hair, to her own surprise, was in a simple, thick plait down her back. She wore no more make-up than usual, nor had she applied any glamour charms.

This was _not _a date.

'Very nice,' her old mirror wheezed approvingly. Minerva hated the thing, but she had never bothered to change it to one that was not enchanted. The wizened female voice talked to Minerva like she was her grandmother – and Minerva could very well attest to the fact that her own grandmother had been nothinglike that.

Minerva extinguished the flames in the fireplace and shut the curtains with a wave of her wand just as there was a knock at the door. She opened it with a flick of her wand before stowing it in her robes and picking up her cloak. She met Dumbledore at the door.

'You look lovely, Minerva,' he greeted her lavishly, dressed in midnight blue robes and a smile. She returned the smile and stepped out into the corridor, the door closing behind her automatically.

'Thank you,' she replied. Albus had told her nothing of what he had planned for the evening except to tell her that muggle clothes would not be necessary.

Once they had reached Hogsmeade, which was unusually empty for a Friday night, Dumbledore offered Minerva his arm. She raised her eyebrows in question.

'I wish our location to remain secret for as long as possible,' he explained, eyes twinkling. 'If you have a strong aversion to Side-Along Apparition that I am of as of yet unaware of, then I shall of course disclose the surprise.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Minerva said sternly, taking his arm, but the small smile on her face betrayed her amusement. Albus laughed outright and tucked her hand more firmly in his arm.

'Here we go, then,' he said, and turned. Minerva closed her eyes and focused on stepping into the crushing darkness, now very familiar, hoping to aid him but trusting that she would arrive intact.

Minerva opened her eyes when the pressure had lifted and looked around. She did not recognize the location but thought that they must still be in Scotland, for long-distance Apparition was tricky at the best of times, but with a companion nearly impossible.

Minerva noticed some lights not far off and narrowed her eyes. The sun was just setting and the violent red and orange colours seemed to be reflecting off something. Then she really looked, and shapes jumped out at her as a building came into her view.

Minerva had just opened her mouth to ask Albus where they were when she caught sight of a sign above the door of the window. With a quiet non-verbal spell, she was able to bring the indiscernible letters into focus. When she saw what they spelled, she laughed out loud.

* * *

Dumbledore smiled to hear Minerva laugh. He had thought she might enjoy this place in particular, due to her connection to it – and his.

It was a small, quiet restaurant that his friend Elphias Doge's aunt had once owned. Albus had met Minerva here once, purely by accident, some fifty years ago before she worked at Hogwarts. It hadn't been entirely coincidental in that Minerva's Grandmother Leitis and Elphias' Aunt Ethyl had been good friends before their peaceful demise. Minerva's grandmother had recommended the place to her granddaughter, and so she had come with her brother.

'I was thinking about my grandmother just before you arrived, actually,' Minerva said as they began the short trek to the restaurant.

Albus chuckled. 'She was quite the woman, wasn't she?' Minerva had yet to release his arm, but he certainly wasn't complaining.

'That's certainly one way to put it,' Minerva replied. 'Grandmother was revolutionary for her time.'

If Minerva hadn't noticed the fact that her hand had slid down to his, Albus was more than happy to allow that oversight. 'Will you order fish?' he enquired, changing the subject.

Minerva scowled at him. 'As a matter of fact, no,' she said, elbowing him in the side. 'Simply because I happened to be eating that particular dish at this particular restaurant when I told you of my Animagus transformation…' she let the sentence trail off.

'Of course, dear,' Albus said, jokingly placating her, automatically squeezing her hand. He wondered if the blush that suffused her face in the next moment was because she'd realized they been holding hands, or because his term of endearment made them sound like Molly and Arthur Weasley – an old married couple. Either way, he was more than a little disappointed when she dropped his hand and her normal colouring returned.

Entering the restaurant found it to be sparsely populated with only three or four other couples – all of whom, Albus noticed, were of the romantic sort. Did he have an ulterior motive bringing Minerva here?

If Minerva objected, she said nothing, but looked around the warm room fondly. 'I'd forgotten about this place,' she said quietly.

'Welcome to Fairy Lights,' said a voice (in heavy accent rather like Hagrid's) behind them. Albus turned and faced an elderly woman with a kind face. 'Jus' the two o' you?' She did not comment on Albus' presence other than a customary smile for him and for Minerva.

'Yes, thank you,' Albus replied, and she led them to a small, circular booth on the second floor of the building.

'The view, it is simply the bes' from up 'ere,' she explained, as there had been more than enough tables on the floor below, pointing to a window. Albus thought that she had a rather knowing smile on her face as she ushered them into the comfortable booth, seating them next to each other around a circular table.

After assuring them that she would be back for drinks and orders, the woman left, her heels clicking as she went back downstairs. There was a moment of silence.

'Minerva?' Albus said, looking at her. She looked up at him. 'Thank you for coming.'

'The pleasure is mine,' she returned after a moment. There was another comfortable pause, and then they turned to their menus.

An hour later, Albus Dumbledore leaned back against the booth, laughing. Minerva had just finished off her meal, including appetizer, salad, steak and kidney pie, side dish, and was halfway through her serving of Scottish shortbread. However, she was still on her first glass of wine.

The evening had gone very well, in Albus' opinion. While they hadn't really gotten around to talking about Minerva yet, he knew that their light-hearted conversation had helped her to relax. Hopefully, she would talk to him – though he wasn't very worried. The conversation had been mainly about safe topics: Quidditch, the students, a new article in _Transfiguration Today. _

Finally, after Minerva took a sip of wine, Albus prepared to bring up the subject. Always capable of surprising him, Minerva beat him to it.

'You've been very patient, Albus,' she said, offering him a slight smile, which, naturally, made him feel horrible for having been about to bring it up. She sighed. 'What is it you want to know?'

Albus took her hands. The intimate movement felt natural, somehow. 'There is nothing I want to know, Minerva,' he said gently. 'I have only noticed how stressed you have been recently, and I had hoped you might allow me to help you. A burden shared is a burden halved.'

'I don't know,' Minerva said after a moment, pulling her hands from his to take a gulp of wine. She surprised him again by (seemingly) subconsciously offering her hands to him again. He took them. Then, she spoke, tartly and rapidly.

'I suppose it started with Connor,' she said, a frown creasing her face, not noticing that Albus' expression mirrored hers, 'when he first arrived, very confident and unchanged. I felt particularly uncomfortable knowing that he was working with me, knowing that he, at some point, would attempt to re-establish our relationship. I felt bad for Trudy, because I _am _fond of her, and I didn't wish to hurt Connor, because, by extension, I'd hurt her.'

'I will also admit,' Minerva continued, taking a deep breath, 'to having been very worried that Connor's arrival – and later confrontation – would have the effect of ruining…well, of ruining what we have,' she said quickly, turning her head to hide a flush of her skin. 'You and I, I mean. I never seem to be able to penetrate that through your head, Albus.' She looked at him, her sharp eyes focused on his. 'Do you realize now that nothing can jeopardize our relationship?'

Albus' heart constricted at the thought that he had been the cause of at least some of her anxiety. 'Yes, Minerva, of course. You mean very much to me, my dear.'

To his surprise, as it seemed to be a habit this evening, Minerva did not blush. She only nodded, looking satisfied. 'Good. I can then also tell you, seeing as I'm sure you noticed, that my Boggart had changed?'

Albus nodded earnestly. 'I was admittedly very curious, but you seemed shaken at the moment, and later, I did not wish to pry.'

'It wouldn't have been prying,' Minerva reassured him. 'In any case, I can tell you what happened with the dog.' She breathed deeply for a moment.

'It is nothing particularly unique, I'll admit. It attacked me, then Bran. I killed it by binding it with ropes, and then choking it. I transfigured the body into a tree branch and threw it away. I managed to take Bran to the nearest hospital, and we both lived. I've certainly survived far more traumatic events.'

Albus felt his brow furrow. 'Forgive me, Minerva, but that is not the usual structure stories adhere to when discussing one's worst fears.'

'You are forgiven,' Minerva said briskly, making him laugh despite the seriousness of the situation. 'It took only an instant after I noticed the change to understand what had happened, what my worst fear is.' She took another sip of wine.

'My parents were killed when I was young, as I'm sure you know. I have no other family besides my brother. The thought, however fleeting, that he might die, was enough to seriously shock me. I cannot lose my brother, for he is all that I have left. That is what I thought.' Minerva raised her eyes to his.

'But that is not true, not in the least. Now I have Hogwarts. I have my students and my friends, and that is enough.' She took another deep breath. 'It is more than just enough, though. It is what I need. I cannot lose them any more than I can lose my brother…any more than I can lose you.'

Albus thought time had stopped.

'That dog is the embodiment of the threat of losing those I love,' Minerva said seriously. 'That is my greatest fear, and it impacted me so heavily I took longer than I should have to recover. My worst fear may take on an odd shape when I am confronted with a Boggart, but they are flawed, and that is how it happens.'

Albus swallowed, moving for the first time in minutes.

'I am a teacher,' Minerva said, 'first and foremost.'

There was a moment of silence before Minerva continued. 'After seeing that fear, which is never easy, the surprise of seeing Bran was almost funny in its irony.' Albus nodded again, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder. She smiled.

'Anyway, I apologize if I seem more tense than usual. I am not at all accustomed to having my life in constant chaos.' Minerva had absolutely no intention to share any concerns she may or may not have had about her feelings for him. One did not go around telling things like that to one's superior.

Minerva raised her wine glass and finished it in one go. Albus was still looking at her intently, his eyes seeming to slice straight through her – piercing her heart. She ignored this.

'I am very fond of you, Minerva,' Albus said after a moment. 'Leaving you was one of the hardest trials of faking my death.' Minerva swallowed, noticing he had used 'you' instead of 'everyone'.

Minerva clicked her fingers, and her wine glass refilled. 'Here's to never faking your death again,' she said, holding the glass aloft in a toast.

For a moment, she feared he might smile sadly and refuse the toast, but he smiled and clinked his glass to hers.

'To never truly leaving those we love,' Albus toasted back, blue eyes smouldering. They did not drop each other's gaze as they drank, placing their glasses on the table after taking a sip.

It was then that Albus felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her.

Never one to refuse impulses like those, Albus leaned forwards slightly, his eyes on hers, seeking not permission, but a lack of refusal. Minerva wet her lips, allowing the movement, and he leaned ever closer…

Footsteps echoed up the staircase, alerting Albus to unwanted company. Not willing to kiss Minerva in front of an audience, Albus leaned back, smiling happily at Minerva, who seemed strangely flustered.

A customer wandered up the stairs, looking around. 'Know where the loo is?' he called to Albus amicably.

'Downstairs by the kitchen,' Albus answered cheerfully.

'Thanks, mate,' the wizard called. Then, to Minerva's utter disbelief, he called, 'Sorry if I interrupted somethin',' and winked. Minerva's face flushed and she scowled, an expression Albus found strangely adorable – not at all a description one usually applied to his elegant deputy.

Albus, far from being irritated, was filled with anticipation. Sometime soon, he knew, he was going to kiss Minerva McGonagall.

* * *

Minerva accepted Albus' help with her cloak as she pulled it around herself. They'd been at the restaurant nearly four hours before their waitress had unwillingly told them that they were closing soon.

As the door closed behind them and they walked down the path, Minerva felt a strange reluctance to leave. There was a short path just ahead of them that she knew led in a circle, and suggested taking it.

'That's a lovely idea, Minerva,' Albus said with a smile that convinced her of his honesty. 'I confess I am somewhat unwilling to leave just yet.'

They were halfway around before Minerva realized that she hadn't told Albus part of what was bothering her. She fell silent for a moment in contemplation, but Albus made up her mind for her.

'My scrutiny of your behaviour of the past fifteen seconds has permitted me to observe that you are troubled, Minerva,' said Albus. Minerva half-laughed (Albus had never heard her laugh so much in one night) and shook her head.

'It's nothing, really,' she said. 'I'm simply being overprotective.' She frowned in thought. 'According to Connor,' she said, deciding to tell him, and not noticing Albus' slight stiffening as she said Connor's name, 'Trudy rather fancies my brother.'

Albus felt equal parts amused, empathetic, and incredulous. Was it possible for one witch to have so much to deal with? 'Oh dear,' he said, not quite knowing the appropriate reaction and deciding that it was the safest thing to say.

Minerva saw right through it and arched an eyebrow. '"Oh dear?"' she repeated. 'That's your observation? My, I feel so much better already. Albus Dumbledore has imparted some great wisdom today, indeed. The world may reach its end, and Albus Dumbledore, greatest wizard of the age, says 'Oh dear.'' Albus laughed, hard, and put his hand on her shoulder to steady himself. She regarded him, chin raised in mock severity, frowning; her sparkling eyes betrayed her.

'Minerva,' Albus said, nearly gasping with laughter, 'Minerva, whatever would I do without you?' She shook her head.

'Fall apart, I expect,' Minerva answered promptly. 'Go on, then. Do you have anything useful to say?'

Albus shrugged, still grinning. 'What would you like me to say, Minerva? When it comes to love, what does age matter, perhaps? Or, who are we to interfere with fate and destiny? Perhaps it is foreseen?' Minerva rolled her eyes.

'Don't start spouting that Divination nonsense,' she scolded him, 'or I am afraid you will find yourself lacking in company.'

'You wouldn't leave me, would you, Minerva?' Albus asked, doing his best to look pathetic. 'I would be helpless without my deputy's organizational genius, wit, and beauty.'

'Don't flatter, Albus,' Minerva said. 'It isn't at all productive.'

'Something useful,' Albus mused. 'Well, why don't you talk to Mr McGonagall about it? I am certain he can handle it masterfully.'

'You are allowed to call him Bran,' Minerva said, arching an eyebrow. 'And I do certainly _not_ intend to interfere. There is quite enough drama already without me making it worse.'

'It is such fun though,' Albus said cheerfully.

'You are such a child,' Minerva replied.

'You are so grown up,' Albus countered.

'Some would say that is a good thing.' Not Albus, obviously.

'I would not,' Albus replied, his eyes twinkling. This was not, Minerva noticed, moonlight reflecting off his glasses; no, this was genuine, amused light in his eyes. 'And seeing, as you so eloquently phrased it earlier, as I am the 'greatest wizard of the age', my opinion counts for more.'

'You may be the greatest, but certainly not the most modest,' Minerva returned.

'It is simply the truth,' Albus said, putting on a superior expression and looking at her disdainfully. The two looked at each for a moment before breaking into gales of laughter.

It was a good ten minutes later before they had sobered enough to notice the time. 'Is it half past eleven already?' Minerva asked, genuinely surprised. 'I had no idea it was so late.'

Albus nodded. 'We'd best be getting back. Milady?' he offered, holding out his arm with a slight bow. She took it, and a moment later, they were back in Hogsmeade. Albus walked Minerva to her chambers and kissed her cheek good night, promising to see her in the morning.

This was dangerous, Minerva thought, later that night as she prepared for bed. She was playing a dangerous game.

**TBC**

_Don't forget to review!_


	13. Gratitude in More Ways than One

_Here's the next chapter of _The Journey_, hope that you all enjoy. Thanks as always to my reviewers, this chapter is dedicated specifically to you! Hope you all enjoy it, as things are starting to heat up! I promise that the MMADness is coming, and that the wait will be worth it! And I really can't stress this enough: REVIEW! Please! It takes five seconds and brings me joy - and motivation! ;) Read and enjoy! :)_

**Gratitude in More Ways than One**

Professor McGonagall was in a very good mood (largely due to the victory her Quidditch team had secured two days ago). Scandalously cheerful, some students called it – at least until she assigned them a large mound of homework.

She was sweeping about her third year students, watching their scowling faces as they waved their wands over the beetles they were supposed to be turning into buttons. A tap on her window caused the students to look up. A large brown school owl was outside the window, a letter in its beak.

'Carry on,' she said to her class, striding over to the window and opening with a flick of her wrist. The owl fluttered inside, dropped the letter, and flew away without waiting for a treat.

Minerva unravelled the scroll and found a short message in familiar loopy writing.

_Staff – _

_There will be a short meeting at 3 o'clock this afternoon in the staffroom. Please come immediately after the last class of the day. No supplies necessary. _

_Headmaster Dumbledore_

Minerva rolled the scroll back up and stowed it in her robes. There was one other class after this one, double Transfiguration with the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Once she got through that, she would go to the meeting. It was not often Albus called a staff meeting on a Monday.

It had been just two weeks ago that Minerva had gone to dinner with the Headmaster. The dinner had brought about a subtle change in their relationship, one not easily defined. When Albus saw her, he would smile, oftentimes putting his hand on the small of her back. They talked more frequently about more personal topics, stayed together later than usual for non-school related discussions. While their relationship had undergone other changes over the years, this one seemed to nestle restlessly in the back of her mind. This nagging was not unpleasant; on the contrary, Minerva had come to accept it and appreciate it – even if she did not yet know what it meant.

Another, less enjoyable nagging she endured was the one she'd first noticed the Monday after her dinner with Albus. Trudy was behaving, while cordial to Minerva, somewhat distant, and she hadn't seen the witch talk to her cousin in weeks. According to Pomona, the behaviour had been occurring since the week _before _Minerva's date – no, dinner – though Pomona was clueless as to why. Minerva thought she had a pretty good idea, but said nothing.

When the final bell of the day rang, Minerva packed her bag (it could no longer be called new), slung it over her shoulder, and departed for the staffroom.

It took just under ten minutes for all of the staff to arrive (Trelawney had neglected to attend) and get settled around the large wooden table in the centre of the room. Trudy, Minerva noted, was sitting between Pomona and Hagrid, avoiding both Minerva and Connor's gaze.

When they had all quieted, Dumbledore stood up at the head of the table and drew a large, thick envelope from within his robes. He opened it up, with motions that indicated he had already read its contents.

'Thank you all for coming. The subject of this meeting is this,' he said, raising the letter slightly. 'This comes from the Minister of Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He has personally invited us all to the Honourable Ball of Gratitude, in the honour of Harry Potter, for defeating Lord Voldemort.'

Minerva resisted the urge to flinch.

'Shall I read the letter that came with the formal invitation?' Dumbledore continued. They all nodded.

'Very well. Here it is,' Albus said, drawing a small bit of parchment from the envelope.

'_Dumbledore,_

_Enclosed is an invitation to the Gratitude Ball, which is open to everyone who is of age, with special exception. Please extend the invitation to your staff, as many of my workers wish to personally thank them – myself included – for protecting our children. The Ball will be held over Christmas break, so if you need any help with the school and the students, I have a few reliable people that are eager to be of service. _

_Please give my regards to the staff, and my hopes that they are well._

_Please send me an owl with a list of who will be attending as soon as you can manage, and hope to see you soon. _

_Kingsley_

_P.S. Please extend my greetings to Minerva. If you could pass on the message that 'the beetle got nailed', I would very much appreciate it.'_

Albus looked up from the letter to see Minerva looking relieved, and rather smug. Everyone was looking at her curiously, but Minerva gave Albus a look that he understood to mean _tell you later, _so he nodded and addressed the others.

'As this letter indicates, we have all been invited to the celebration. I personally would very much enjoy going, if the circumstances so warrant it. Is there anyone who feels the ball could do without their extravagant presence?' There was a pause.

'We may not have any students over the holidays,' Dumbledore added, 'in which case we are all free to attend.'

In other situations, Minerva might not have gone to the ball. She had never been fond of Ministry affairs like these. It was not that she felt uncomfortable (indeed, her parents, high-class magical researchers, had exposed young Minerva to more than her fair share of functions like these when they had been alive) or bored. She simply had little patience for witches and wizards who regularly attended these sort of things. They were mostly pretentious snobs who only went so they could brag about having been. It was also an opportunity to see countless of what Minerva disapprovingly called clingers – tall, thin witches with sequined dresses and heads as full as Crabbe and Goyle's.

However, this Ball was in honour of one of her Gryffindors, to thank him for defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She would look rude and uncaring if she did not go. While she had never much cared what others thought of her, this was one event she could not miss. Besides, it had been far too long since she had seen Kingsley or Hestia Jones or the Weasleys. She could look forward to seeing them, at least.

Moreover, Minerva knew that Kingsley was de-corrupting the entire Ministry of Magic right now, undergoing fair trials and rooting out any ancient beliefs. This was taking a toll on the number of workers, but enough remained and still more were pouring in. Hopefully, there would be a smaller number of clingers than usual.

'I'm not going,' muttered Filch from the corner. Dumbledore nodded.

'You may leave if you wish, Argus,' he said, and Filch went from the room, Mrs. Norris at his heels. 'Is there anyone else?' Dumbledore continued. 'No? Very well, then. I will send Kingsley an owl to inform him that we will be attending. Minerva, when you know how many students will be staying over the holidays, please let me know. That will be all.'

There was a scraping of chairs as the staff stood up and gathered their things. 'Trudy –,' Connor said, reaching out a hand, but Trudy left the room quickly, leaving an almost tangible draft of cold air behind her. Connor muttered something inaudible under his breath and left.

Minerva picked up her bag and followed her staff out, leaving with Poppy and Pomona at their insistence.

'Well, Minerva?' Poppy asked her friend later, looking amused. 'What is this about a beetle?' She, Minerva, and Pomona were sitting in Poppy's sitting room for a cup of tea before dinner.

'Kingsley was keeping me updated on Rita Skeeter's trial,' Minerva explained, 'for being an unregistered Animagus.' She frowned, and Poppy refrained from smiling with difficulty. Minerva had been incensed to hear of Rita's initial forgiveness by the ministry, being a registered Animagus herself.

'They were going to fine her,' Minerva continued, 'but I do believe that she was just convicted.' Poppy nodded, but Pomona looked at Minerva suspiciously.

'That's not all that happened,' Pomona guessed. 'You're not telling us something.' Minerva raised her chin slightly and looked Pomona in the eye.

'Oh?' she challenged. 'What exactly am I hiding?'

Pomona pursed her lips and regarded Minerva carefully. 'I don't know, but I'm willing to bet Dumbledore does. I intend to find out, Minerva – unless you'd like to tell me yourself and save me the trouble?'

Minerva fought the urge to roll her eyes. 'I had fully intended to tell, Pomona, and you, Poppy, of course,' she replied crisply. 'However, if you feel you can find out yourself –.'

'Minerva, that's hardly fair!' snapped Poppy. 'Tell us! Or at least, tell me, I didn't do anything.'

'Poppy!' shrieked Pomona indignantly.

Minerva laughed, amused. Unfortunately, this caused her friends to refocus their attentions on her. 'Minerva, go on, please?' Pomona asked.

'The two of you are like children,' Minerva sniffed disdainfully. 'Fighting over gossip like nifflers over gold.'

'You love us anyway,' Pomona said with a grin, 'so stop denying it and tell us what happened.'

'Very well,' Minerva said after a pause, and her friends leaned forwards eagerly. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Poppy hurried through to her office to answer it.

'You haven't been in another Quidditch accident?' came Poppy's clucking tone of disapproval as she spoke to the visitor. 'Go to the Hospital Wing, I shall be there in a moment.' There was the sound of receding footsteps, and then Poppy re-emerged.

'It's Peakes again,' she said to Minerva. 'He said Ritchie Coote hit a Bludger at him during practice.' Minerva frowned and rose to her feet. 'It's likely just a broken nose,' Poppy said, 'but I will check him for concussion. You can see to him later.'

Minerva nodded and set down her tea cup. 'Send him to me after he's well,' Minerva said. 'And for heavens sake, Poppy, let the boy play in the Quidditch match this weekend.' Poppy rolled her eyes and hurried to Hospital Wing.

'I must be going,' Minerva said to Pomona, who was looking disgruntled. 'Another time, Pomona.' Professor Sprout nodded and accompanied Minerva out into the corridor. They didn't far before they ran into a weedy-looking fifth year covered in mud.

'Mr Coote,' Minerva said briskly. 'I assume you are coming to see how your fellow Beater is?' She regarded the student over her glasses, eyebrows raised.

After having gotten over his initial shock that Minerva already knew about the accident, Coote nodded fretfully. 'Yes, Professor,' he panted, evidently having run all the way from the Quidditch pitch. 'I didn't mean to – Ginny said I should try to hit harder, I wasn't aiming for Jimmy!' He looked at Minerva anxiously.

'I see,' said Minerva. 'Mr Peakes in currently being tended to by Madam Pomfrey. While I don't know the details of his predicament, I believe that he will recover. In future,' she continued crisply, 'I expect that you will pay more attention to your surroundings so as to avoid a repeat of today's incident. Understand?'

'Yes, Professor,' Ritchie said. 'Can I – can I see him?'

'Go wait outside the Hospital Wing,' Minerva instructed. 'When Madam Pomfrey has finished, she will let you in.' The boy nodded and ran off.

Pomona chuckled once Ritchie was out of earshot. 'Poor boy,' she said. 'He looked so worried.'

Minerva smiled wryly. 'I have long since decided that whatever torture they endure, whether self-inflicted or by the hand of their peers, is worse than anything I can subject them to.' Pomona laughed outright.

'I suppose you're right,' she concurred. 'The only thing that seems to work really well is a serious loss of House points – and most of us are reluctant to do that to our own Houses.'

'I've done it before,' sniffed Minerva. 'Though why my students feel the need to engage in activities that merit such a loss of points is beyond me.'

'Oh, I don't know,' said Pomona lightly. 'I heard that you were quite the student during your time.' She grinned at Minerva.

'Who said that?' Minerva demanded. 'It was Horace, wasn't it? I'll have you know, Pomona Sprout, that I was top of my class!' Minerva's face was stern, which was how the students saw it, but Pomona detected a glint of humour in Minerva's eyes.

'I never said you weren't, Pomona defended herself with a smile, raising her hands. 'All I'm saying is that someone might have mentioned that you –.'

'That I what?' interrupted Minerva, looking at Pomona threateningly.

'That you – er – were a model students and an excellent Chaser,' faltered Pomona. Minerva nodded approvingly.

'Much better,' she said approvingly. Pomona laughed again, and Minerva allowed herself a smile.

Ten minutes later, Minerva bid Pomona goodbye and left for her office, saying she had two sixth year girls coming in for Transfiguration help before dinner. Pomona, thinking she might visit Filius, made her way to the Charms corridor, only to hear a familiar voice.

'This is the second time this week you've handed in less than acceptable essays, Mr. Bush. Fifteen points from Hufflepuff, and be grateful it isn't more,' snapped Trudy. Then came the sound of angry footsteps as the students deaparted, and Pomona stopped and considered. While the punishment was perfectly reasonable, it was highly unlike Trudy to be so abrupt and irritated with her students. Pomona had noticed Trudy's less than cordial behaviour towards her cousin – 'complete aversion' described it rather accurately – and wondered the reason for it. This was a good opportunity to find out why.

And no, it had _nothing _to do with the fact that Hufflepuff had just lost fifteen points.

'Professor Crawford?' she called, turning the corner. Trudy spun around, looking harassed, but she relaxed when she saw Pomona.

'Professor Sprout,' she said, sounding relieved. 'How are you?'

'Just fine,' Pomona answered, trying to be cheerful. 'I was going to call for a cup of tea in my quarters before dinner. Would you like to come?' She smiled. Trudy hesitated. 'Come on, it'll do you good,' Pomona encouraged. Trudy finally nodded.

'Alright then, thank you,' she accepted, and the two began the trek to Sprout's office.

'Was that Joshua Bush you were talking to?' Pomona enquired.

Trudy nodded. 'His work is usually stellar; I don't know what has gotten into him. Lately he's lucky if he manages an 'Acceptable'.'

The two witches continued to discuss Bush and various other students until they reached Pomona's chambers. Once they had settled in her sitting room, Pomona called her house-elf, a kind-looking female named Herba.

'Two cups of tea please, Herba,' Pomona said as she sat. 'One herbal, the other mint.' Pomona had taken note of Trudy's preferred tea weeks ago. The house-elf made a bow and disappeared, returning with a crack a moment later. She placed them on the coffee table and bowed again before leaving.

'So, Trudy,' Pomona said, watching as the younger witch added cream to her tea, 'how are you?' She tried to ask to question sincerely, hoping that Trudy would give her an honest answer. She expected to have to wheedle what she wanted to know out of Trudy, but she was surprised.

'Pomona, I have to tell somebody!' burst out Trudy. 'I'm sorry, it's just been bothering me for ages.'

'Of course, dear,' Pomona said gently. 'What's happened?'

'It doesn't have much to do with me – well, I suppose in a way it does – and I wasn't sure if I ought to speak, because it was _so _disrespectful.' Trudy flushed angrily just thinking about it, remembering the words.

'It was three weeks ago, I think,' she began. 'Connor and I were in the staff room talking. I expressed a desire to get to know Minerva's brother better.' Trudy gave Pomona a meaningful look, and Pomona understood.

'Connor teased me a bit, which was fine, really. Only then Minerva came in and got some tea.' Pomona inhaled sharply. She saw where this was going. 'We were talking, and it wasn't as awkward as I had anticipated, what with Minerva and Connor not really being comfortable with each other. It was going fine until Trelawney came in.' Trudy took a deep breath.

'She mentioned that she had seen me with Bran the other day, and one thing led to another and she and Minerva sort of quarrelled – only Minerva destroyed her fairly quickly. Sybil left, and Minerva, just as a conversation piece, I suppose, mentioned that had been unaware that I had seen Bran.' Pomona grimaced and patted Trudy on the shoulder comfortingly. 'I may have blushed a bit,' Trudy admitted, 'but then Connor actually _told _Minerva that I – well, you know. Then it was horribly awkward, and Minerva quickly left.'

'Oh, you poor thing,' Pomona said. 'It's not as bad as you think, now, Minerva won't hold anything against you.'

'I'm not finished,' Trudy said shakily. 'It was a little while later that I confronted Connor and asked him why he had told Minerva. I think I brought up how much younger I was then Bran, and Connor – Merlin, he was terrible!'

'What did he say?' Pomona asked, leaning forwards.

Trudy shifted uncomfortably. 'I don't like to repeat it. He said that the age difference couldn't bother Minerva because – because she'd 'shagged Dumbledore', and he's so much older than Minerva.'

Pomona gasped. She could hardly believe it. She was not especially fond of Connor, but she hadn't thought him disrespectful or offensive. But this, this was unbelievably rude!

'I haven't spoken to Connor since,' Trudy said quietly, noticing Pomona's anger. 'But I also haven't been able to look Minerva in the face.'

'Oh dear,' Pomona said, and the two witches sat in silence.

'Well, I think that's the last of them, Minerva,' Dumbledore said cheerfully as he and Minerva filed away the budget plans. It was after dinner, and the two of them had been working for an hour. 'I do appreciate you helping, my dear.'

'It's not a problem,' Minerva replied. 'I should leave now, though. I have some marking to do.' She inwardly grimaced at the thought of the stack of fourth-year essays awaiting her.

'Minerva, if you wait just a moment?' Albus asked before she could leave.

'Yes, Albus?' Minerva said. He approached her.

'I have a question I'd like to ask you, Minerva,' he said with a smile. Minerva raised her eyebrows.

'Yes?' She really needed to get started on those essays.

'Perhaps not so much a question as a sentiment,' Dumbledore amended.

'What is it, Albus?' Minerva said briskly.

'How do you feel about the Gratitude Ball?' he asked. Minerva's eyes narrowed in question. 'Will you be going alone?' he continued.

'I expect so,' Minerva said crisply. 'Albus, I don't quite –.'

'Would you go with someone, if they asked?' Dumbledore enquired.

'I hadn't thought about it – I don't expect to be asked, really,' Minerva began.

'And if you were asked?' Albus asked, looking at her pointedly. There was a pause.

'What?' said Minerva. There was another pregnant pause.

'I should like to take you to the Ball, Minerva,' said Albus slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. He watched as her crisp manner flickered for a moment, a split second of self-doubt flashing in her eyes, before she regained her composure. She looked him in the eye.

'I should like that very much, Albus,' she finally said.

'I'm very glad,' he said. Minerva stifled the foreign urge to wrap her arms around him. 'Thank you, Minerva.'

Later, in her chambers, it sunk in: Minerva was publicly attending a Ball with Albus Dumbledore.

**TBC**

_A/N: There you have it! Next up: Girl Talk with Min and her friends! After that is the ball, I promise ;) REVIEW!_


	14. Raw Meat and Thestrals

_I apologize for the long wait between updates; I got a new job and it takes up much more of my time than I would like. Amidst all of the confusion, Chapter 14 was born! Reviews were shockingly scant, I'm sorry to say, so don't forget to review this time. And as per anonymous request - _Glaze, _I think it was - I have tried to give you some humour, but it's not really my forte. Enjoy! :)_

**Raw Meat and Thestrals**

Winter had truly fallen by the time the students left for the Christmas holidays. The puff of white smoke that the Hogwarts Express belched out upon departure was only a shade darker than the snow-covered ground. The expanse of sky that served as a backdrop to the castle was occasionally a brilliant blue, but more often than not it adhered to true Scottish weather and was grey. The lake as a whole was not frozen, due in part to its size and to the Giant Squid, but patches of thick ice could be found near the shore. A path from the castle to the main gates had been forged quite cleanly, but only for the reason that hundreds of students had trampled the same way that morning. So in that way, December had truly fallen. For the sentimental type, Christmas was certainly in the air, and most members of staff spent the day after the students had gone thinking of that particular holiday.

Minerva, however, spent that morning, thinking not of Christmas, but in contemplation of the amount of 'none'. It was, she thought, an odd characteristic. In some ways, a person dreaded the number, if in relation to the amount of time, news, or money. But if a person related 'none' to death, poverty, and trouble, than 'none' was indeed welcomed in. She herself could think of many times in which she had longed for 'none' – when Horace had found his Firewhiskey, for example. This particular case of 'none' was interesting, though.

It had been a long while since the school had been completely devoid of any student body during Christmas break – at least ten years, if not more, Minerva thought. And yet, here they were, the castle empty of hormonal, pubescent teenagers and full of faculty, staff, and Christmas spirit. 'None' was now referenced to the number of students in the castle.

Rather than put up the twelve massive Christmas trees in the Great Hall, which was, after all, for the students' enjoyment, the staff had decided to place three large trees in the staffroom instead. This made sense, because with no students, that was where they would be spending most of their time and eating their meals. Dumbledore, bless that mad, dear man, had decided that instead of having Minerva and Filius decorate the pines, the entire staff should do it together. That was how Minerva found herself Saturday morning, with an armful of garland and thimble of patience.

'Pomona, that piece of holly is as perfectly positioned as it is ever going to be, even if you stand there fixing it for the next three centuries,' Minerva snapped, tapping her foot. 'I happen to have better things to do with that time, so if you could leave off that tiny plant for just a moment and start using the garland I have been holding for you for the last fifteen minutes, I would greatly appreciate it.'

'Minerva, are you always this so short-tempered when you decorate the trees?' Madam Pomfrey asked, coming around from the other side of the tree. 'Filius, _do _tell the truth: does Minerva tear your throat out every year?'

Flitwick chuckled heartily as he trailed his wand, which was blossoming golden bubbles, over the branches of the second tree.

'You keep talking, Poppy, and it won't be Filius' throat you'll be worried for,' Minerva retorted, sighing in relief as Pomona lifted an end of the garland from Minerva's arms. 'Thank you, Pomona.'

As Sprout used her wand to levitate the shimmering decoration to the top of the tree, Dumbledore entered the room with an armful of mistletoe. 'Here we are,' he said cheerfully. 'My favourite Christmas decoration!' He stopped next to Minerva and held a sprig of mistletoe over her head. He kissed her cheek cheerfully, grinning cheekily as he pulled away.

'Very funny, Albus,' Minerva replied, trying and failing to hide a slight smile on her face. 'Stop playing around and hang it up.' Dumbledore grinned again.

'But I like to play,' he replied. 'Don't you, darling?'

'Frankly?' Minerva said. 'No. Now stop pestering me and be helpful.'

'So cold, Minerva,' Dumbledore said, hiding a grin. 'Fine, then. You give me a kiss and I'll go pester someone else.' Minerva's arms were finally relieved of the garland as the last of it was wrapped around the tree. She turned to Albus, her hands on her hips and a sparkle in her eyes.

'Don't you have anything better to do?' she asked, looking at him over her glasses.

'What could be more important than getting kisses from beautiful witches, dear Minerva?' grinned Albus.

'Oh, get a room,' Slughorn called from across the room as he flicked his wand at a box of baubles.

'Gladly,' Dumbledore answered, snaking an arm around Minerva's waist. For the shortest of moments, Pomona felt sure they would kiss – properly, this time – but no, that was preposterous, and then Minerva had elbowed her charmer in the ribs and moved away. Pomona took note of Albus noticing the blush in Minerva's cheeks, and his delight in it.

Minerva had gone to help Madam Pomfrey. 'You have something to tell me, Minerva?' Poppy whispered behind the as-of-yet undecorated third tree. 'Look, you're even blushing.'

'I am not!' Minerva hissed back. 'You're being ridiculous.' Poppy shook her head ruefully.

'Tell me,' she begged, in a manner most unusual of the strict matron.

'Later,' Minerva finally gave in, mostly out of annoyance, as they came out from behind the tree. Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and Minerva found herself in her Animagus form, her hackles raised on end, out of sheer shock. Irritated, she shifted back, glaring at Slughorn, who'd dropped a box of decorations. 'Magic, Horace,' she reminded him sarcastically. He rolled his eyes in return, and Minerva looked up to see Trudy staring at her.

'Something wrong, Trudy?' she asked. Trudy blinked and shook her head.

'Oh, no, I'm sorry. I've just never seen you…' Trudy trailed off, unsure of the right terminology.

'Transform?' Pomona offered as she walked by. Trudy nodded.

'You should have asked,' Minerva said, not unkindly.

'Minerva loves showing off,' Slughorn called from across the room. He grinned cheekily as Minerva glared at him, but he smiled for just a moment in apology, and Minerva's slight nod showed she understood.

'Would you like to see?' she offered to the younger witch. Trudy nodded hesitantly.

'If you don't mind…' she said, attempting to hide her eagerness. 'I've never seen an Animagus transformation in person before.' Minerva cocked an eyebrow in one moment, and in the next, a small grey cat was in her place. Trudy gaped again.

'Amazing,' she breathed, and the cat's tail flicked before Professor McGonagall had once again returned. 'How do you do it?'

'It was a result of my Transfiguration research,' Minerva replied, smoothing her hair. 'I did an extensive study into all fields of Transfiguration before I returned to Hogwarts to teach.' She pursed her lips and added, 'though I won't pretend it hasn't come in handy over the years.' She seemed lost in a dark thought for a moment, but a second later she had brought herself to the present and smiled.

'Thank you for showing me,' Trudy told her. 'It was really very interesting.' This was the longest conversation Trudy had had with Minerva in weeks. Perhaps she remembered, for in the next moment the younger witch had excused herself to help Filius. Minerva sighed and turned around, the find Pomona standing behind her.

'Yes?' Minerva asked, raising her eyebrows at Pomona's pained look. Sprout's face quickly smoothed over, and she jerked her head towards a corner. Minerva followed.

'Poppy and I are going to Hogsmeade this afternoon, and thought we'd extend the invitation to you,' Pomona said.

Minerva considered. She would have to answer all of Pomona and Poppy's questions, but perhaps she could get some of her own answers. Besides which, she could use a day out – and an opportunity to buy some new robes.

'Thank you,' Minerva replied briskly, having decided. 'We'll decide what time to go at lunch.' Pomona agreed, and the two witches turned back to the Christmas trees.

* * *

Dumbledore had by all means _not _forgotten his vow to kiss Minerva. In fact, he was looking forward to it with anticipation, wondering at her reaction. But in the staffroom in front of everyone was not the setting he wanted their kiss to take place. He very much doubted she would appreciate an intimate movement in such a public environment – assuming, of course, that she would appreciate any sort intimate movement at all.

Albus did, however, have an idea for the afternoon. He'd rather warmed up to the staff-bonding idea he'd introduced that morning, when they had all decorated the trees. The trees did look smashing, covered in gleaming icicles and baubles and lights and Merlin knew what else. At lunch, while pretending to admire one the trees, he'd overhead Minerva, Poppy, and Pomona making plans to go to the village that afternoon. A sneaking plan had begun to worm its way into his mind, though he had kept his face smooth.

It wasn't as though they hadn't enough work to do over the holidays, though the absence of students certainly lessened it. The work on the castle was nearly done, and although Minerva had eased off her participation a bit in the last few weeks, she had told him it would likely be done by Christmas. All of this had weighed on Albus' mind, but he hadn't given up on his idea. They all needed a break.

So shortly after lunch he'd recruited Filius, Horace, Hagrid, and even Connor. Trudy had noticed something was going on, and not wanting to exclude her, Albus had asked Filius to ask Trudy to meet him outside at two o'clock – the time that Minerva and the others were going to Hogsmeade.

All of this would fail to explain why Albus and the other male members of staff were crouched on either side of the path at one fifty-five that afternoon – at least until one factors snow into the equation.

Albus peeked over the edge of his snowbank and caught Filius' eye. The tiny wizard winked at him, his gloved hands cupping what Albus knew to be the final ingredient for what was sure to be the most fun he'd had a while. He also glanced down the path and just caught sight of the tip of Horace's hat, emerald green against the ivory snow, and wondered if Minerva would notice.

Just then, Albus heard voices, and he instinctively ducked lower, daring to peek at the three – no, four – witches coming down the path. His eyes were drawn to Minerva first, and he yet again, as he had through the years, admired her. Her skin almost matched the snow; her hair he likened to the night sky. This time was different from past observations, however. While previously he had appreciated her loveliness objectively, now he looked at her with cheer and delight, knowing how much she meant to him – and hopefully how much more she would become.

But now was not the time to be fawning over his deputy. He smiled to himself as they drew nearer, and finally, praying to Merlin for ability, he drew back his arm and fired his ammunition, throwing with all the aim and accuracy he possessed.

Albus Dumbledore had just throw a snowball.

This snowball struck his intended target (Minerva, who else?) in the shoulder, exploding into her face and causing her to stumble. Albus heard a similar thump on the other side of the path, and knew that Filius' and the others' snowballs had hit their targets as well. Minerva whirled around to face her attacker, a glare half-formed on her face. 'Albus Dumbl-!' And then she caught sight of Albus' joyful, mischievous expression. The glare dissolved so quickly it was almost alarming, and a wicked look took its place.

Too late, Albus took off down the path, as fast as his one-hundred-and-fifty-plus years would let him. Unfortunately for him, Minerva's days as a Chaser had awarded her both accuracy and strength, and Albus was struck in the back of the head with a large snowball, toppling his face-first into the cold snow.

Perhaps it was the shock that started it all, for when Poppy, Pomona, and Trudy caught sight of Minerva's triumphant expression, they laughed and scooped up snow themselves.

'That'll teach you to hit me snowballs, Filius Flitwick!' Pomona shouted as she hurled her ammunition after the Charms master.

The siege continued for several minutes. Poor Madam Pomfrey was subjected to one of Hagrid's massive snowballs, but Minerva and Trudy, who realized she'd been set up, quickly jumped to her aid, pelting the half-giant before suffering an attack, courtesy of Connor and Slughorn, themselves. Albus ran for the castle, knowing full well he'd never make it.

'Don't let him get away!' Minerva shouted, and Albus ducked as he ran, laughter slowing him down. Eventually, a snowball caught him in the ear, and he fell in surprise. Minerva, hot on his heels, threw another snowball, but was soon hit from behind by one of Hagrid's snow boulders. She collapsed next to him.

'Albus Dumbledore, of all the childish things to do,' she began, laughing as so rarely she did. 'A snowball fight, really?'

'Really,' Albus answered. 'Look how much fun everyone is having, Minerva.' Minerva looked, and smiled as the others fought furiously, retreating down the path. The snow began to fall more heavily, obscuring her view.

'I suppose so,' she said, never one to admit defeat easily. Albus laughed again, and she joined in.

When their laughter and died, it suddenly occurred to Albus three things: one, how quiet it had suddenly gotten; two, how cold it was, lying in the snow; and three, an excellent way to get warm. The opportunity was practically begging, and he felt a strong urge to follow through.

It was time to fulfill his vow.

He locked eyes with Minerva, lying next to him. She shivered, and he wondered if it was due to the cold, or otherwise. He hoped it was the latter. He smiled at her, hoping to offer her comfort, and propped himself up on his elbow, shifting towards her. Her gaze dropped a few inches, and he leaned forwards.

He wanted to kiss her.

'Minerva! Minerva, are you coming?' came Madam Pomfrey's voice from a ways down the path, through the heavily falling snow. Albus had oftentimes appreciated the matron's matter-of-fact mannerisms and lack of subtlety, but now was not one of those times. Minerva rose to her feet fluidly.

'Marvellous idea, Albus,' Minerva told him, as if nothing had happened. 'Next time, think well before you attack an ex-Chaser.'

Albus rose to his feet, almost feeling slightly disgruntled. Before he could say anything, Minerva and stepped forward and kissed his cheek – a gesture she hadn't used for years. Albus stood in the snow, mouth agape, as Minerva cocked an eyebrow at him. She threw him an enigmatic smile and strode off, making her way through the snow, the cloak Albus had given her wrapped around her shoulders.

He would never understand women.

* * *

'Alright, start talking,' Madam Pomfrey ordered once they were all seated in the Three Broomsticks. 'What's been going on?'

Minerva shook her head and sipped her gillywater. 'Pomona first,' she said, raising her eyebrows at her friend. 'You've kept something from me as well.'

Pomona had a quick debate with herself. On one hand, she ought to tell Minerva what Connor had said – _she's shagging Dumbledore _– in case he started to spread that around. On the other hand, doing so would only enrage Minerva, not to mention hurt her as well. Pomona decided on a half-truth.

'Trudy and Connor had a row after he'd told you that she fancies Bran,' Pomona began. Poppy's lack of surprise told Minerva Pomona had already told Poppy of Trudy's fondness for her brother. 'Trudy was furious at him for refusing to grasp the complexity of the situation, and Connor got rather rude. He said,' Pomona continued, hiding her hesitation over the next few words, 'several impolite things, among them that you, Minerva, shouldn't care about your brother's relationships. Trudy was quite beside herself. She hasn't spoken to Connor since – or been able to look at you.' Minerva pursed her lips.

'This is all ridiculous,' she said decidedly. 'I will go see Trudy this afternoon and tell her that she had nothing to fear. Doubtlessly, she won't appreciate it, but my patience has run its course.' Pomona could only nod and pray to Merlin that Minerva wouldn't find out what Connor had _truly _said – although Trudy was probably highly reluctant to repeat the words. That would have to be enough.

There was a pause as all three witches sipped their drinks. The three clunks that sounded thereafter signified different sentiments: Poppy's was impatience; Pomona's relish; Minerva's resignation.

'You remember the time the headmaster and I quarrelled?' Minerva began. 'After I had smoothed things over, so to speak – yes, Poppy, I apologized, no need to look so shocked! – Albus and I went to dinner.' Minerva took another sip before continuing, wishing for a moment that the liquid in her glass was something stronger.

'Where to?' Pomona asked, leaning forwards in her chair, smiling almost conspiratorially.

'Fairy Lights,' replied Minerva, not elaborating. As far as she was concerned, the sentimentality the place held for her was personal.

'That's lovely,' Poppy said, watching Minerva. 'How did it go?'

Minerva hesitated for a moment before answering as honestly as she could. 'It was very nice,' she admitted finally. 'I won't deny the…the romance of the whole thing,' she said slowly. 'I hadn't thought…it wasn't a dinner between simple friends, perhaps I ought to put it like that. Though…well, in any case,' giving herself a figurative shake, 'I hadn't prepared for that sort of atmosphere.'

'You don't think he planned it?' Pomona asked, looking delighted.

Minerva shrugged, irritated now. 'I don't know. I'm being terribly mawkish,' she said crossly. 'Can I go on?' she added, seeing Pomona open her mouth. 'Nothing's happened, since then, really. Except for just an hour ago.'

'The snowball fight?' Poppy asked, rolling her eyes. 'Men are so trivial.'

'No,' Minerva said. 'I mean, yes, of course, it was trivial. But that's not what I'm referring to.' She paused.

Minerva was fairly good at reading people. One didn't teach for forty years without picking up some sort of proficiency at interpreting expressions and actions. While Dumbledore was, more often than not, an exception when it came to normal human reactions, the basics didn't change. Minerva had been an attractive witch during her youth, and she'd grown quite skilled at reading wizards' romantic intentions. She'd always been able to tell when a man wanted her, however hard they'd tried to hide it. Albus, however, hadn't hidden it at all. Yes, that moment in the snow, she'd been quite certain that Albus had wanted to kiss her – and would have, she thought, if Poppy hadn't interrupted.

'I'd tripped,' Minerva said, having gathered her thoughts, 'as had Albus. He looked at me…' she trailed off.

'Yes?' Poppy and Pomona said simultaneously, leaning towards Minerva eagerly.

'I think we would have kissed,' Minerva said quietly. 'Had Poppy not called me.'

'Are you sure?' Pomona said in a hushed voice, the one reserved for the library when Madam Pince was swooping about.

'He was going to kiss me,' Minerva said flatly. 'I could tell.'

Had Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout been younger, perhaps in their teenage years or even slightly older, they most likely would have squealed in delight. Being older and (marginally) more mature, they instead gasped, and began laughing in excitement.

'This is wonderful!' cried sentimental Pomona. 'Anyone can see how much you two mean to each other – this is the beginning, believe you me!'

'Be quiet,' Minerva snapped. 'You romanticize everything, Pomona! This isn't a fairy tale.'

But nothing could dampen Poppy and Pomona's delight, and their excitement was not easily contained. Minerva realized this, and threw the rest of the meat to the Thestrals.

'We're going to the Gratitude Ball together,' Minerva said shortly, and braced herself for the explosion. She was not disappointed.

* * *

Madam Ethelfleda narrowed her eyes as she surveyed the fabrics before her. She needed a truly special one for what she was going to make. Red wouldn't do, nor would blue or green or – Merlin forbid! – yellow. No, these colours may be classics for the average woman, but the witch that would soon arrive would need so much more than a simple dress.

Ethelfleda finally chose her fabric and turned to the table, laying it down carefully. Yes, the witch would be irritated and sceptical, but she would be beautiful. All she needed was a way to show it. Gladrags Wizardwear specialized in vintage clothes, after all. While Madam Ethelfleda hadn't made a gown in years, she sensed that this was an opportunity she wouldn't want to miss.

She made a mental note to give the workers the day off the witch was coming. The witch would be irritated enough without several young wizards breathing down her neck. The witch would have to be alone in the store, or the opportunity might escape.

But that was ridiculous. Madam Ethelfleda Gladrags hadn't missed an opportunity in years, not since her grandfather had left her his business. This would be her moment to shine. She silently thanked the witch who would soon arrive. Finally taking up her tools, she set to work on the gown that would be her finest ever created.

**TBC**

_A/N: Well, there you have it. Please review, and I shall do my very best to have the next chapter up before Christmas. Would it be very terrible if it went up after? Sorry in advance :P Don't forget to review!_


	15. Take the Dragon by the Horns

_Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, as usual, but this chapter is hopefully enough for me to earn your forgiveness. It's quite a long one, too :) Thank you so so so so much to my wonderful reviews, I love you all :D Keep reviewing, and enjoy :)_

NOTE: _I have included a link in my profile to some drawings of Minerva's dress robes. They aren't coloured and they quality is not the best, but they are better than the description in the chapter. I'm not an artist, but I had an urge to draw her robes, so feel free to look at that. :P (P.S. I'm really bad at faces, so I didn't give Minerva one :P)_

**Take the Dragon by the Horns**

It was foolish, really, Minerva thought. It was a flimsy, whimsical thing to do, not at all what people usually expected of her. The long-established habits in her rejected the thought.

And yet, the notion appealed to her somehow. Perhaps it was because she knew she would be reasonable, appropriate; or perhaps because it was the logical thing to do – if one was the sort of person who did such things.

Minerva was shopping.

Or at least, she was going to be. Her old tartan dress robes were worn and, though very dear to her (all of her tartan things were), sadly in need of replacement. She'd be wearing tartan somewhere on her person during the Ball, of that she could reassure herself, so it didn't feel of total betrayal to buy new robes. She was sensible enough to see that attending the most important function of the year in tatty old robes could only have negative effects – not just on herself, but for Hogwarts as well. Still, she wasn't accustomed to this.

Unlike her friends.

They'd gone shopping the other day, Poppy, Pomona, and herself, but Minerva had found it less than productive. She'd refused her friends' suggestion to look in Gladrags Wizardwear, saying that their 'vintage' clothes were far from what she was looking for. They'd seen that she wouldn't budge, and so had tried other places. Minerva had just about decided that if she couldn't find anything in Hogsmeade, she'd have to go to London and visit Diagon Alley – something she never did during the school year unless it was an emergency.

Now, however, she was enjoying a last drink with her brother in the Three Broomsticks, in Hogsmeade. It had been his last weekend at the castle, and the repair work was done. None of the other staff knew of her brother's departure, and Minerva was particularly loathe to tell Trudy. They would find out soon enough. Bran had no quarrel against it.

'I suppose this is it,' Minerva said when they had drained their glasses and were standing out in the street. 'Don't Splinch yourself.'

''Course not,' Bran said cheerfully. He sobered up a bit as he looked into his sister's face. 'Cheer up, Min, it's nearly Christmas.'

Minerva nodded. 'Yes, I know. Do take care of yourself, won't you?' Bran nodded and put a hand on her shoulder.

'I will, don't worry about me,' he told her with a smiled. 'And I'll see you at the Gratitude Ball, don't forget.'

'Wouldn't dream of it,' Minerva said dryly, and Bran laughed. They embraced as Bran started to leave.

'You're a McGonagall through and through, Minnie lass,' he said in his thickest Scottish brogue. 'Take care o' yourself now.' He smiled and walked away.

'When 'ave I ever done otherwise?' Minerva shouted in a thick accent of her own. There was a crack, and Bran was gone, his laughter still echoing down the street.

Minerva stood in the street for a moment, staring at the place where her brother had been. Then, with an inaudible sigh, she turned and walked away in a swirl of emerald robes.

* * *

A quiet bell tinkled as the door opened, breaking the silence of the shop. A gust of December wind rattled the doorframe as the customer stepped inside. She eyed the store critically before taking another few steps in. Madam Ethelfleda watched from the shadows. This was the moment she'd been preparing for.

The witch in green robes slowly browsed through the racks of robes, not really looking at any one thing, obviously not in serious consideration. Ethelfleda had heard the witch outside the shop a few days ago, refusing to go in. She smiled smugly to herself that the witch was here now.

After a few minutes, it became apparent that this witch with the square glasses was not going to be making a purchase by herself. She would soon leave if she had nothing to show for her casual examination of Gladrags' clothing. Ethelfleda decided it was time to intervene.

'Hello.' The witch turned, her startled expression already hidden behind one of cool indifference. Ethelfleda smiled as she took another step out of the shadows. 'May I be of assistance?'

The witch hesitated for just a moment, clearly debating with herself. She obviously did not want to request aid, but Ethelfleda also sense that this witch was getting rather desperate for a new robe. She smiled. This would have to be done carefully. This witch was not one to be forced into anything.

'Perhaps you can just tell me what you're looking for, hmm?' the elderly madam suggested lightly. 'A new robe, perhaps?'

'Dress robes,' the witch finally said, somewhat stiffly, smoothing her green robes around her. She looked somewhat haughty as she gazed at Madam Ethelfleda, but the Gladrags' owner did not take it personally.

'Perhaps this section here?' she suggested, though she already had a robe made for this witch. It wouldn't do to mention that this early in the game, though. That was her last move. The tall witch frowned and moved in the direction that Madam had suggested. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

'Thank you,' she said, looking through the rack with a tad more interest. Madam let that go on for a few minutes, bustling around the shop, which she had kept carefully empty today. The quiet rustling of robes was all that was to be heard. Finally, Ethelfleda offered her assistance.

'Perhaps this one here?' she suggested, coming to stand next to the witch and selecting a deep blue robe with silver trim. The witch eyed it for a moment.

'No,' she said decidedly. 'Blue's not my colour.' Ethelfleda hid a satisfactory smile. So the witch had decided to accept some help after all. This would be highly enjoyable.

'Then perhaps a violet?' she suggested, and it began.

Robes were chosen and discarded, tried on and rejected. The changing room was piled high with cast off robes, the curtain opened and closed frequently. The closest they came to success was a deep red robe that flared out near the bottom and had high slits in the billowing sleeves. The witch tried it on twice, but they eventually discarded it in mutual agreement that the maroon hue did not suit the witch's pale complexion.

The witch, surprisingly, did not tire or grow impatient, as her sort often did. The minutes turned to one half-hour, which grew in number to two, then three, and before they knew it two hours had passed with little success. But the witch was surprisingly patient, and had a strange gleam in her eye that suggested she may have been enjoying herself – of course, she'd deny it to anyone who asked.

'So, no blue, yellow, maroon, or orange?' verified Madam Ethelfleda, summarizing what they'd concluded during the past two hours. She shuddered visibly at the mention of orange; she may have had eclectic taste, but bright orange robes were not part of them.

'Yes,' confirmed the witch. 'And definitely no sleeveless robes, low necklines, or transparent skirts.' Ethelfleda nodded. This, too, they'd already had established.

Perhaps it was time.

* * *

Professor McGonagall was quite surprised by herself. She was a witch who knew herself through and through, who strode through life with self-confidence envied by many. She was always certain and deliberate, sensible and no-nonsense. She knew herself, and she wasn't in the habit of questioning that now.

Still the fact remained that she had somewhat enjoyed the past few hours. Her patience hadn't run aground and her scepticism had taken a back seat. She suspected that perhaps she wouldn't have been so patient had she not sensed that the elderly woman helping her possessed a thorough understanding of what she was talking about. She was a true professional; that was something Minerva could appreciate.

'You know, I have this dress,' the elderly woman began thoughtfully, as though the thought had just struck her. 'I hadn't thought of it before, but perhaps….you would like to see?' Minerva sensed something odd about the speech and its careful deliverance, but she had come to trust this woman despite herself, and so nodded.

'Why not?' she allowed, and waited while the woman hurried off with a speed that belied what must have been her many years. She did not have long to wait. Soon the click of heels announced the witch's return.

'Here we are,' she said, arms full of the robe. 'I myself made this a while ago…I think perhaps it's you, no?' Minerva raised her eyebrows. The sales witch hadn't held it up for Minerva to see, but what instead cradling it carefully to her chest as though it were an infant.

'No, you must try it first, no sneaky-peeking,' the woman said, her eyes sparkling.

'Fine,' Minerva replied. She snatched the robe and stalked off to the change room. She shed her emerald robes quickly, pulling the new robe on just as fast. She paused only long enough to check that it wasn't indecent in any way before stepping out and regarding herself in the mirror.

Minerva did not see the sales witch's smug smile, the triumph gleaming in her eyes. She kept her eyes on herself.

It was now that Minerva realized she'd been looking for the wrong thing. She hadn't been looking for a dress to make her beautiful, so to speak, but at least something that would make her look fancy, more attractive – which was precisely what she _didn't _need. What she needed happened to be what she was wearing.

The robes consisted of two parts, as robes often did: an under-robe and an over-robe. The former one of this particular set was black and sleeveless, with a tall, slender shape to match Minerva's thin figure. The neckline was sharp and high, and empty in the place where a brooch would go – Minerva already knew which brooch she would wear. The length was such that it brushed the ground.

The over-robe was dark green and heavy. The sleeves were long and thin, wrapping around her arms. Its length was shorter than that of the black one, ending a few inches above the ground. There was a thin, light green tartan sash she'd wrapped around her narrow waist. The robes were the same weight as her usual ones, and felt comfortable and familiar. In fact, the whole ensemble was so Minerva-esque she knew it had been made specifically for her.

The store owner stood smiling behind her. 'I will bring it to the front for you, no?' she said, something like a grin on her wrinkled face. Minerva nodded curtly and swept for the dressing room. She was finished with this shopping business – thank Merlin.

* * *

'Go away,' Minerva snapped, and had it been anyone else it would have sounded very rude. But that was Minerva, curt and to-the-point, and Poppy didn't take her seriously. She pushed past her friend and looked her up and down.

'You're a fiendish creature, Minerva,' Madam Pomfrey said, scowling. Minerva had pulled on her cloak (yes, the one Albus had given her) in anticipation of her friends' early – too early, she thought haughtily – arrival before the Ball. It hid her from Poppy's probing eyes. Pomona wasn't much more pleased.

'Humph. If that's the way you want it, Minerva, I won't argue with you,' the Hufflepuff Head said. 'But you must promise to tell absolutely everything afterwards.'

'If that is what it takes,' Minerva replied crisply. 'I insist on one stipulation, however.'

'Oh?' said Pomona, raising her eyebrows.

'Yes,' Minerva confirmed. 'Wait until tomorrow – and leave right now.'

'That's two,' complained Poppy as Minerva ushered them out.

'Is it?' Minerva said in an unnaturally light voice – which was their clue to detecting her heavy sarcasm. 'My mistake. Now out.'

Grumbling, the two witches departed, already dressed in their Ball attire. For Pomona, this implied a cheery brown dress robe and the cleaning of her fingernails. Poppy sported clean, dark blue dress robes and a silver necklace.

Minerva shut the door and glanced at the clock. Albus was picking her up at quarter to seven; it was twenty to seven now, and she knew he would not be late.

Minerva smiled slightly to herself as she removed the cloak and adjusted the brooch at her neck. She knew she'd confused Dumbledore by kissing his cheek at the snowball fight, she could tell that much. She also knew that he had wanted to kiss her properly, and she'd be lying if she said she had wanted to hinder his attempts.

Her relationship with Albus was a difficult one to define, these days, but Minerva wasn't particularly bothered. She was a Gryffindor, after all; she liked adventure. (Just not the life-threatening kind – it had been all-too abundant during the last school year.)

The Gratitude Ball was tonight, and despite herself, Minerva was looking forward to it. Minerva had always had a slight mischievous side; a bit of a wicked sense of humour. She liked to unsettle people who were calm and pretentious and, as her mother would have said, 'hoity-toity politicians'. She would certainly be sparking rumours by attending the Ball on Albus' arm, even if she wasn't quite sure was he meant by it yet.

Ah, well. Figuring that out was half of the fun.

A knock at her door signalled Albus' arrival. Minerva glanced at the clock. Well, well. He was right on time. She picked up her cloak, which had only been for her friends' benefit, straightened her glasses, and went to the door.

Dumbledore stood at the other side. He wore midnight-blue robes with silver trim and a twinkle in his blue eyes. His beard and hair shone brightly in the corridor – but his smile was brighter.

'Minerva,' he greeted her, producing flowers from nowhere as he looked her up and down, 'you are truly beautiful, my dear.' Minerva accepted the bouquet with thanks, drawing her wand to send it off to a vase.

'Thank you,' she replied, offering her hand to his. Instead of taking it, he kissed the back, smiling slyly, and she knew he hadn't forgotten the snowball-cheek-kissing incident. She hid a wicked smile. So, he wanted to play.

'You're not going to say the same of me?' he asked archly, offering her his arm as they made their way down the corridor.

'It would taste a lie,' she said in reply. 'One could hardly call you beautiful, Albus.'

'My darling Minerva, you wound me,' he said, but his beard twitched with a smile. 'What could 'one call me', as you so elegantly phrased it?'

'Tall, and thin, I suppose,' Minerva retorted, filing away 'my darling Minerva' for later examination. Her face was expressionless but for her eyes, which gleamed mischievously. The students would never have believed it.

'The same could be said of you, my dear,' Albus pointed out, and rightly so.

'We could be siblings,' Minerva said indifferently, shrugging off his observations. After all, she'd observed the same herself.

'Oh, I'd hardly call you a _sister_, Minerva,' Albus grinned, dropping her arm to slide his own around her waist. 'And I will admit that I am rather grateful for that.'

'Oh?' Minerva sniffed dispassionately. 'As am I, I suppose. Then I should have to share your looks.'

Dumbledore laughed outright at that. 'Minerva, you are a cold-hearted lass. What can I do to melt your heart?'

'I'm afraid I can't tell you,' Minerva answered in her odd way of joking as they descended the steps to the front lawn. 'I've never told anyone, and I certainly won't begin now.'

'Is that why you are here, beside me, instead of married to some infinitely lucky sod of wizard?' Albus questioned, smiling again.

'Indeed. You've been cursed,' answered Minerva, but she tightened her grip on his arm. They were floundering about in uncharted waters, and she felt the sudden need to ground herself. If Albus noticed, he said nothing.

'A curse I accept with delight,' he said. 'I may not know how to melt your heart, Minerva, but I think I shall start with a hug. I've heard they can be warm little things.' So saying, he dropped her arm and turned to her. Minerva paused for a moment, reading his eyes, and then stepped forwards into his arms.

It felt oddly final, that last little step, like some decision had been made. For a moment she felt a rush of irrational happiness, before she brought herself back to Earth and knew nothing had happened. His arms felt nice, though. Albus, for his turn, thought she smelled lovely. And her thin waist fit in his arms very nicely. It was a moment for either of them moved.

'Your carriage awaits, milady,' Albus said with a bow, breaking his hold on her and careful to make his reluctance obvious. 'Or, in our charming case, the Apparition point.'

'How romantic,' Minerva said curtly, having no use for flowery romance or anything of the sort.

'I strive to please you,' Dumbledore replied, and it was simply strength of character that neither of them in any way acknowledged the double-entendre – at least out loud.

They were perfectly on time, as the Ball had been scheduled to commence at seven; and yet, if sheer number was anything to go by, one would have thought the Ball had been going on for hours. This, or course, made Albus Dumbledore's entrance noticeable (though it would have been in any case), much more so than normal.

And he entered with Minerva McGonagall on his arm, who looked for all the world like the cat that ate the canary.

Damn, but they were going to enjoy this.

* * *

It was a little while later when the dancing began. Minister Shacklebolt had welcomed everyone, thanked them for coming and briefly (to Harry's relief) stated the reason for the Ball. Then Harry said a few words (nothing very articulate) and the Ball began.

'May I have this dance, Minerva?' Albus asked, offering her his hand as the music started.

'I expect so,' Minerva replied, taking his proffered hand. She was acutely aware of a crowd of witches watching them closely. As Minerva and Dumbledore passed them on their way to the floor, she looked at them haughtily.

'People with common courtesy are a dying breed,' she said curtly, as if to Albus, but the witches looked flustered as they flushed red and moved off. Minerva raised her chin a fraction of an inch and looked mildly pleased. She glanced at Albus, who was smiling at her.

'Just start dancing,' she snapped, and he chuckled and put his hand at her waist. They began to dance, in time to the music and in synchronization with the other couples on the floor.

'Cuddle fish,' Dumbledore remarked conversationally as they danced. Minerva looked at him.

'I'm sorry?' she said, eyebrows raised.

'Cuddle fish,' the older man repeated. 'I find it helpful to start off a conversation with a nice objective word. It seems to make it easier to move on to more intelligent dialogue.'

'Does it not seem ironic to you to use 'cuddle fish' as a gateway to _intelligent _conversation?' Minerva replied, deliberately arching an eyebrow.

'Of course,' Dumbledore promptly replied, a grin on his face. 'That's what makes it so delightful.'

'You're mad,' Minerva informed him.

'So I've been told,' he answered cheerfully. 'It's terribly good fun.'

'There are other ways to amuse oneself,' Minerva told Albus. 'I suggest you look into them.'

'Such as purposefully attending the most popular event of the decade on the arm of a famous wizard to rile up everyone else?' Albus asked, his eyes piercing through her.

Minerva scowled. He knew everything, the stupid git. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' she replied, feigning indifference.

'I rather think you most of everything, Minerva,' Dumbledore replied, smiling. 'Pretended ignorance isn't really your best angle.'

'Subtlety was never my strong suit,' Minerva answered with a shrug.

'No,' agreed Dumbledore. 'You're more the sort to take the dragon by horns, so to speak.'

'I should hope so,' Minerva responded. 'Sneaking around never did anyone any good. And don't think I didn't notice what you said, Albus. 'Famous wizard', are you?'

'I like to think so,' Dumbledore answered good-naturedly, winking at her.

'I don't,' Minerva retorted. 'And I don't pay court with egotistical wizards, so don't delude yourself.'

'Is that what we're doing, Minerva?' Albus asked, locking eyes with her. 'Paying court?'

Minerva would have frozen had they not been dancing. She felt a flush of heat rise up to her face, and swore colourfully in her head. She thought that if the world were to open up and emit dragons and Dark wizards and foul creatures, she'd rather face that instead. That not being an option, she swallowed and looked at Albus determinedly.

'I hadn't thought about it,' she replied coldly. The music stopped and the couples on the floor bowed to each other before moving off. Minerva and Albus didn't move.

'I had,' Dumbledore replied simply. He looked at Minerva, noting her flushed neck and face, how she held his gaze though he could tell she desperately wished to drop it. She said nothing.

'Would you like to know what I concluded?' he continued, ignoring the fact that several people were watching them. Minerva's eyes flickered between him and their audience, looking for all the world as though she did _not _want to know what he had concluded, and would rather jump off the Astronomy tower instead.

Albus took her arm and gently guided her away from the watchers and towards the outside gardens. It was dark out, but several enchanted lanterns floated along the path, lighting their way.

'Minerva,' he said gently, once they were alone, but she jerked her arm from his grasp and turned away.

'It's fine,' she said coldly. 'I don't want to talk about it.'

Albus smiled to himself and followed her, deeper into the gardens. He caught her hand as she stalked away from him. She pulled it out of his grasp as though burned.

'I would like to talk about it,' he insisted gently. Minerva shook her head.

'Unfortunately, this isn't about you, so you'll forgive me if I take my leave of you now, Albus.' She turned to go again.

'Minerva, I very much _would _like to court you,' Albus told her, keeping a tight grip on her hand to prevent her from leaving. She shook her head, retaining her brisk manner.

'I won't have anyone taking pity on me,' she snapped. '_Do _let me alone, Dumbledore.'

'I do not pity you, Minerva,' Albus said again. 'I would honour the opportunity to further our relationship. I'd intended to speak to you about it tonight.' He looked at her, but he could see she wasn't listening; her mind was miles away, whirring to keep herself from doing anything, from focusing, he could see that much. He needed a more drastic measure.

So he kissed her.

He put his hands to her face and bent his head, his fingers curling softly around her neck. He kissed her softly, gently parting her lips with his own. It could not be considered a chaste kiss; no, this was a kiss with intent. When he raised his head to look at her, to brush a strand of hair from her forehead, her eyes followed him. She looked pensive for a moment. Then;

'I've changed my mind,' she announced in her usual manner. 'You may court me.'

And Dumbledore laughed, and wound his arms around her waist without thinking about it. 'You've changed your mind, have you? May I ask what brought on such a drastic change of heart?'

'I don't think I'll tell you,' Minerva said dryly. 'Your head is quite big enough.'

Albus' cheeks hurt from laughing, but he couldn't help it. His hand brushed her cheek; her neck; her temple; his fingers with hers. 'I'd like to kiss a certain witch, Minerva,' he told her, 'but I'm not sure if she'll allow it.'

'I think you'll find she may,' Minerva informed him. She closed her eyes as he lowered his head; and then his mouth was upon hers, hot and gentle, and she knew that this is what would have happened at the snowball fight. She grinned to think of what Poppy might have interrupted had she come two minutes later. She wrapped her arms around Albus' neck was in utter bliss for a whole five seconds before she remembered.

'Albus!' She tore away from, pushing his arms, her face flushed and frowning.

'Darling?' he asked, bemused, why had she –?

'We're in _public_,' she snapped, fixing her hair, 'I couldn't possibly – it's the _height _of impropriety – I don't know what –.'

'The gardens are empty, Minerva,' Dumbledore pointed out, amused, and she threw him such a glare he raised his hands in surrender. Alright, he admitted it. He liked Minerva. He liked her a lot.

'That doesn't matter, and you can't know that – for Merlin's sake, stop grinning like a child, Albus!'

'Would you like to know how I think of it, Minerva?' Albus said, following her determined stride back to the ballroom. 'I can either kiss you here, or in there,' pointing to the ballroom, 'and I think that you might prefer it here.'

'Neither is appropriate,' Minerva informed him.

'Then where, Minerva?' Albus asked, catching hold her hand. 'I don't want to push you, my dear.'

Her face softened for just an instant, but then she shook her head. 'I have to go see Poppy and Pomona,' she finally said. 'I'll see you later, Albus. You're not pushing me.' And then, to his utter shock, Minerva took a step forward and wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling his head to hers. She kissed him quickly, lightly, almost shyly, and then she was gone.

Albus Dumbledore beamed. This was truly a wonderful night.

* * *

Pomona Sprout was in the middle of a very nice conversation with a naturalist when Minerva appeared, her eyes narrowed in determination. _Uh oh._

'Good evening,' Minerva said politely, barely looking at Pomona's companion. 'Pomona, may I speak with you for a moment?' Pomona was about to object, when she really _looked_ at Minerva. Was her face…flushed? And was that a loose strand of hair?

'Of course,' the Herbologist replied. 'Excuse us for a moment,' she said to the wizard, who nodded. Minerva seized Pomona's arm and dragged her off to find Poppy, who was not pleased when Minerva interrupted her conversation with a handsome Healer from St. Mungo's. Minerva ushered her friends outside, not saying a word.

'Alright, what's this all about?' Poppy said crossly, staring at Minerva. 'What's happened to you?'

'Change of plans,' Minerva said shortly, leading them more deeply into the moonlit gardens. 'I'm telling you 'absolutely everything' now.'

It took both Poppy and Pomona a moment to place their words from earlier, when they'd made Minerva promise to share the details of her date with Dumbledore.

'You don't mean…' Pomona began, a smile spreading slowly across her face.

'Hush,' Minerva ordered. 'Not yet.' She led the two witches deeply into the garden, finally settling on one of two wooden benches facing each other. Poppy and Pomona took the other.

'Your robes are very nice, by the way, Minerva,' Poppy said approvingly. 'Very Minerva-ish.'

Minerva acknowledged the compliment with a curt nod. 'Now listen,' she said briskly, 'I only tell you this because you are both my friends. Tell anyone else and I will be forced to hunt you down and throw you in the lake with Giant Squid.' After Poppy and Pomona's earnest nods, Minerva told them everything that had transpired. She was interrupted only twice: when she told them of the 'paying court' moment, and when Albus had kissed her.

'I cannot _believe _you said that,' Pomona said, leaning back after the tale was done, looking thoroughly delighted. 'It was a stroke of genius.'

'I was ready to hex myself, I can tell you that much,' Minerva retorted. 'I still don't know what possessed me to tell Albus we were courting.'

'It worked though, didn't it?' replied Pomona with a grin.

'Weren't you worried that he obligated to say so?' Poppy said. She knew that Minerva knew Dumbledore better than anybody, so she wasn't particularly worried, but she was curious to see what Minerva thought.

'Not worried, per se,' Minerva replied. 'I did say that I didn't need pity, which I suppose he interpreted to mean that I thought he'd offered to court me as a response to what I'd said. But when he kissed me,' Minerva said, resolutely ignoring the smug smiles of her friends, 'I was fairly reassured. He's not the sort to toy with people's emotions.'

'No,' said Pomona thoughtfully, 'I don't suppose he is.'

Minerva sat in silence for a moment, and then she looked up and smiled; a true, genuine smile.

And delight reigned.

* * *

Trudy sat at a table by herself, trying and failing to look entertained. She spotted Professor Dumbledore across the room, talking to a young man she presumed to be Harry Potter. With them were Minerva and Bran, chatting cheerfully. She sighed. She wanted Bran to ask her to dance. She really was fond of him; she thought he was kind and funny and truth be told, Trudy was sort of lonely. She sighed, sipping her glass of champagne.

She still wasn't speaking to Connor all that much. She was waiting for a formal apology, and Connor knew it. Perhaps that was why he was avoiding her, talking to some pretty witch on the other side of the room. She sighed again. So much for blood.

A scraping sound on her left alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone. To her surprise, Pomona Sprout seated herself next to Trudy, smiling kindly. 'We never leave each other alone at these kind of functions,' Pomona said with a wink. 'It's Hogwarts' Unwritten Code of Honour.'

Trudy laughed despite herself, suddenly feeling much more cheerful. Another moment passed, and then Flitwick and climbed onto a chair with a grin plastered to his cheerful face. 'Ladies,' he greeted them. 'Enjoy yourselves, I hope? Sprouty, I think you've had enough wine,' he added, with a wink to Trudy, who laughed again.

'I'm making up for the outing I missed to the Three Broomsticks, Filius dear,' demurred Pomona.

'Trudy missed it too, and you don't see her gulping down wine by the barrelful, do you?' Flitwick squeaked.

'Actually, I think I'd like to remedy that,' Trudy answered with a grin, and she seized another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

'Witches,' squeaked Filius in mock exasperation. 'Well, if you can't lick them, join them – isn't that what the muggles say, Tru?' He grinned and took another glass for himself, raising it in toast. 'To us,' he said.

'To Hogwarts,' Pomona said, raising her own.

Trudy didn't bother pointing out the misquote in Flitwick's expression, but instead raised her glass as well. 'To elf-made wine,' she toasted, and with a hearty 'hear, hear!' from her companions, the three drank deeply.

Perhaps this Ball wasn't so bad, after all.

**TBC**

_Hope you enjoyed! Things are starting to heat up, aren't they? ;) Review are greatly appreciated! :D_


	16. The Past and Other Bothers

_I am so sorry for the wait. I had finals and other real-life dramas, so happy, enjoyable stuff was put on an unfortunate hold. I hope you all stick with it, and thanks again to my wonderful reviewers! You brighten my day! Enjoy and review, as always :)_

**The Past and Other Bothers**

'Really? Are you sure? I mean, it's very thoughtful of you, but –,' Trudy was surprised, and, truth be told, rather flattered.

'Of course,' Pomona encouraged the younger witch as she watered her plants in Greenhouse Three. 'We'd love to have you.'

Trudy was silent as she thought. When Pomona had invited her to a sort of gathering this evening, she'd felt almost happy at the inclusion, then rather shy.

'I don't know,' Trudy began hesitantly, but Pomona cut her off.

'Listen, it's going to be great fun,' she said. 'It'll just be me, Poppy, and Minerva. Oh, and Rolanda Hooch if she can come. Just the five of us having a bit of a witches' night, alright? Actually,' the Herbology teacher said, 'Minerva specifically told me to invite you.'

'Really?' Trudy said, taken aback.

'Oh, yes,' Pomona confirmed. 'Minerva wants you to come – in fact, she ordered me to get you to come in any way I could, even if it meant dragging up the Astronomy Tower stairs. I really don't want to have to do that, so just come and save me some trouble?'

'But – but Minerva doesn't even like me!' Trudy burst out, then immediately scolded herself for such a childish statement.

Professor Sprout looked surprised. 'Of course she does. Why would you think she doesn't?'

'It's just – the whole thing with Connor, you know, and she never talks to me or anything! She knows practically everything; she must think I'm clueless, or pathetic. I bet you she never even took Muggle Studies,' Trudy concluded pitifully.

Pomona regarded Trudy for a long moment, then set down her watering can and guided Trudy to a nearby bench, seating her on it firmly.

'Listen to me for a moment,' Pomona began gently. 'Minerva is the Deputy Headmistress. It is her responsibility to ensure that everything at Hogwarts runs smoothly. The Headmaster directs everything and sets the foundation, but it is Minerva who must carry it all out. She orchestrates everything, that is her job. The classes, discipline, Quidditch scheduling – everything.' Pomona took a breath and continued as Trudy squirmed guiltily in her seat. 'She must be ready to take charge at all times, particularly with Dumbledore as headmaster, as he can frequently be called away for emergencies. The school may be his priority, but it is Minerva's life. Everyone says that Dumbledore is the best headmaster this school has ever had, and it's true, but there are burdens to having the greatest wizard in the world as Headmaster.'

Trudy was looking at her hands as Pomona carried on.

'There are things no one ever thinks of. Minerva may be a powerful witch, but she is no Dumbledore – hell, no one is – and as such, she will always be in his shadow. Oh, she doesn't mind,' Pomona added at the look on Trudy's face. 'She always says she prefers it that way. She supports him when he's present, and she leads when he's not. It's a smooth system – but Trudy, it's exhausting. During the year, Minerva rarely has time for anything. This Christmas holiday is such a rarity, she doesn't really know what to do with her time. So please,' Pomona finished, 'stop torturing yourself. Minerva likes you quite a lot; she just doesn't always have time for everyone. Besides which,' she added, 'that Minerva is far too sensible to judge you for something your cousin did.'

Trudy nodded slowly as understanding unfurled.

'As a matter of fact,' Pomona said in light-hearted tone, 'Minerva did take Muggle Studies as a student. She wasn't going to, but she heard some older Slytherin student say that no self-respecting pure-blood would bother with such a class. Well,' Pomona chuckled, 'Minerva's family was a very well-respected, very wealthy pure-blooded clan. So, you can imagine, the first thing Minerva did was sign up for Muggle Studies.'

Trudy actually found herself laughing.

'She walked into breakfast the next day, right past the Slytherin table, and said loudly, 'I can't wait for Muggle Studies next year. It'll be _so_ interesting to learn all about our non-magic brethren.' The Slytherin looked like she had slapped him; the look on his face was priceless.' Pomona laughed again at the memory.

'I didn't think you went to Hogwarts with Minerva,' Trudy said as they stood up, brushing her robes off.

'Oh, I didn't. I saw the memory in Dumbledore's Penseive. Minerva wasn't pleased.' Pomona chuckled again, before turning to Trudy. 'So, will you come tonight? Or will I be forced to take drastic measures?'

Trudy laughed, and nodded. 'I'll come.'

'Good,' Pomona said approvingly. 'Go on inside, now, I've got to finish watering the Venomous Tantacula. Oh,' she called as Trudy walked away, 'we're meeting on the Astronomy Tower at eight.' Nodding her understanding, Trudy headed towards the castle, feeling happier than she had in a while.

* * *

'Oh dear,' muttered Flitwick as he read the paper. Being rather small, the paper was somewhat awkward to handle, but he wasn't a Charms master for nothing. The _Daily Prophet _floated in front of him, pages turning with a flick of Flitwick's wrist.

'What is it?' asked Slughorn, who was reading a letter in a large armchair.

'There are problems with the giants,' the tiny Charms teacher replied, frowning slightly as he read the article. 'Brawls amongst themselves, drawing the attention of nearby muggle towns…the muggles think it's a series of earthquakes.'

'The ministry will have to intervene soon,' Slughorn replied, going back to his letter.

'I wonder if Dumbledore knows,' said Flitwick thoughtfully to no one in particular. He looked up as the staff room door opened. 'Morning, Pomona.'

'Morning, Filius,' the cheerful witch replied. 'Any news?'

'Trouble with the giants,' Flitwick squeaked. 'It'll spiral out of control very quickly unless the ministry helps.'

Sprout got herself a cup of pumpkin juice and seated herself next to Flitwick. 'I'm sure Shacklebolt is doing his best,' she said to Flitwick. 'Remember, he's rooting out all of the scum in the ministry right now, they're a little lower in numbers than usual.'

'De-corruption might be a more appropriate term,' said Slughorn from his corner. 'And I heard that Harry and his friend…oh, what's-his-name, Rupert something, were helping. I always did say Harry would go far.'

'Well, of course,' said Pomona. 'He was famous already, wasn't he?'

'That doesn't necessarily mean –,' began Slughorn.

'Good morning, Minerva!' Flitwick squeaked loudly as the witch entered the room, preventing Sprout and Slughorn from arguing further. Pomona looked up.

'Morning, Min,' she said, patting the couch next to her. 'Cup of tea?

'No, thank you,' Minerva replied, taking the seat Pomona indicated. 'Did you invite Trudy?'

'Oh, yes,' said Pomona. 'Took a bit of doing, but she agreed to come eventually.'

'Excellent,' Minerva said as she stood. 'Shall we go do a bit of a set-up before the party, then?'

'Good idea,' Pomona agreed, rising to her feet. Minerva joined her, and they were halfway to the door when Filius's called out.

'Minerva, have you seen the headmaster?' he asked.

'Yes,' Minerva answered. 'I saw him this – stop smirking, Pomona! – this morning. I believe he's in his office.'

'I want to show him this article,' Filius said, getting to his feet. 'Thank you, Minerva.'

'You're welcome,' Minerva answered, and then she and Pomona left for her office.

'So, you've seen Dumbledore already this morning, have you?' enquired Pomona with a smile, hurrying to keep up with Minerva's quick pace.

'I have, as a matter of fact,' Minerva replied briskly. 'He stopped by this morning for a chat.'

'About anything in particular?' Pomona asked, raising her eyebrows pointedly at Minerva's feet, who took the hint and slowed her pace.

'No, actually,' Minerva replied. Pomona shrugged and left the conversation there, talking of other things until they reached Minerva's sitting room.

* * *

It was ten to eight and Trudy was just getting ready to leave for Pomona's little 'witches' night', as she'd called it. She had intended to leave at quarter-to but at the last minute had decided to change her robes. She wasn't sure what everyone was wearing, but she had quickly forgone her usual, casual robes and changed into another set of comfy, light-blue ones. She brushed her teeth and combed her grey-speckled hair before setting off, slightly apprehensive.

The walk to the Astronomy tower took the ten minutes she'd anticipated, but the climb up the numerous stairs took an extra five, so she was slightly late and panting by the time she knocked on the door leading to balcony. Trudy suddenly wondered if she should have brought a cloak; it was, after all, December, and she didn't much fancy freezing her bum off for a party.

Pomona opened the door with a bright smile, her cheeks tinged pink and her flyaway hair ruffled under her witch hat. 'Tru!' she exclaimed, ushering the young(er) teacher inside. 'I'm so glad you came.'

'I didn't bring a cloak,' Trudy began as she crossed the threshold, but the sight that greeted her stopped whatever else she might have said.

The open balcony had a beautiful view of the Hogwarts' grounds, and the velvet night sky shone with stars. The moon shone almost brightly enough as to negate the use of lanterns, reflecting in the Black Lake. The Forbidden Forest was a dark mass of shadows, individual trees indistinguishable. The clear night was beautiful, and strangely magical.

Lowering her gaze, Trudy noticed several large, comfy pillows and blankets around a low table on the stone floor. The set of telescopes that usually occupied the space had been stored inside, and several lanterns floated by themselves in mid-air, giving the terrace a warm glow. Trudy saw three witches seated on the pillows, each holding a glass and laughing at something. Two of the witches, of course, were Minerva and Poppy; the third was Rolanda Hooch, the brash, strict Quidditch referee with the spiky hair and bronze eyes. Trudy didn't know her well at all, but she seemed friendly enough, if a bit bold.

'Evening, Trudy,' Poppy greeted her, rising to her feet as the others followed suit.

'E-evening,' Trudy stuttered after a moment, still processing the sight. Pomona laughed cheerfully.

'It's something, isn't it?' she agreed. 'Minerva did a bit of work – couple of warming charms, a few sheltering ones, and here we are! We're just lucky Dumbledore doesn't mind us using the Astronomy Tower when Aurora's away.'

'Luck had nothing to do with,' Madam Hooch said, eyes gleaming. 'All Minerva had to do was ask him, and we're as good as gold.' Poppy laughed as Minerva sputtered.

'Rolanda, you are ridiculous,' she informed the stern referee. 'Hello, Trudy,' she said with a smile.

'Evening, Minerva,' Trudy replied. 'Did you really do all of this? It's incredible.'

'Thank you,' Minerva answered. 'Come and sit down, won't you?' The five women were soon settled comfortably on the cushy pillows and gathered around a low table full of food and drink.

'Shame Aurora and Septima left for the holidays – can't blame them, I suppose,' Poppy said, sipping a gillywater. Trudy, though she nodded with the rest, secretly felt a little relieved that the Astronomy and Arithmancy teachers were absent, as she wasn't as close to them.

'So, did you have a good time with your cousin, Rolanda?' Minerva asked, biting into a biscuit Trudy recognized as a Ginger Newt. She helped herself to some of the Honeydukes chocolate.

'To an extent,' Madam Hooch replied, swallowing a mouthful of Firewhiskey. 'I think next this happens – if it ever does again – I'll stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. It's much nicer. Not to mention,' she added mischievously, 'that all of the exciting stuff happens while I'm away.' This was said with a pointed look in Minerva's direction.

While Trudy and the others laughed, Minerva shook her head. 'If this was all some elaborate plan to hear more about the night of the Gratitude Ball, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you,' she said.

'Oh, go on, Min,' Poppy said. 'Rolanda hasn't heard any of the details yet, and neither has Trudy.'

Minerva sniffed as she took another sip of her gillywater. 'Well,' she said after a moment, 'I suppose I should tell you _something_ – just so you don't go spreading rumours, you understand.'

'Absolutely,' Rolanda said with a straight face, deliberately not looking at the others. Minerva rolled her eyes and relayed the details about what had happened the night before at the Ball. When she had finished, Rolanda was shaking with laughter.

She wasn't alone. Trudy thought she might have cried from laughing so much.

'I cannot believe you said that to him!' Rolanda exclaimed in delight. 'Min, that was brilliant!'

'I didn't think so at the time, I can assure you,' Minerva responded.

'I don't pay court with egotistical wizards,' Rolanda said haughtily, imitating Minerva, and the others burst into laughter again.

'So, what happens now?' asked Pomona, munching on small sandwich. 'Is he courting you?'

Minerva shrugged. 'I'm not sure, to be honest. He dropped by this morning –,'

'Did he now?' Rolanda put in, grinning slyly.

'But he didn't say much,' Minerva continued over Rolanda, elbowing her in the side. 'It _is_ only the day after the Ball, you know.'

'I know,' Poppy said, 'it's just so unlike you not to want to sort things out, make it official. Remember that time Darius Connelly asked you to Hogsmeade, and you wouldn't go out with him a second time until he told you what his intentions were?'

'Really?' Trudy asked, looking at Minerva in awe, who nodded.

'I always needed men to be very clear,' she said with a grin. 'Of course, that did tend to scare quite a few off…but it worked with Darius, didn't it?'

'That it did,' Poppy said. 'He was your first kiss, wasn't he?'

Minerva made a sound of confirmation as she finally abandoned her gillywater and poured herself a glass of whiskey.

'Do you ever think,' Trudy asked after a moment, surprised by her own daring and completely changing the subject, 'that being around teenagers every day sort of –,'

'Makes us act like them?' Pomona finished. 'Only when they're not around,' she said with a wink.

'Speak for yourself,' Minerva said as she set down her glass. 'While you, Pomona, have been know to exhibit, um, student-like tendencies –,'

'Student-like?' sputtered Pomona, but Minerva ignored her.

'The rest of us are usually quite capable of acting our age – or at least, maturely,' Minerva added as an afterthought.

'I'm not so sure,' Poppy said, with a wink to Minerva. 'Dear Rolanda seems to be rather childish at times.'

'I beg to differ,' began Rolanda, but Minerva waved away her protests.

'Beg somewhere else,' she said, flicking a finger at the referee.

Two hours later, Trudy found herself giggling inordinately at something Rolanda had said, inwardly marvelling at how much she was enjoying herself. Minerva, to Trudy's intense surprise, had allowed (well, didn't hex them for it) Poppy and Pomona to take down her hair, and that had to be her fourth or fifth glass of scotch. Madam Hooch wasn't faring much better, having moved on to her second bottle of Firewhiskey, her eyes were sparkling dangerously. Pomona was giggling along with Trudy while Minerva and Poppy tried in vain to regain their composure.

'How old are you, Rolanda?' Trudy asked, feeling comfortable enough to ask the question.

'Ancient,' answered Minerva for her friend, ducking as Rolanda flicked a biscuit at her.

'I am sixty-two,' Hooch answered with a grin. 'Do I look it?'

'Yes,' answered Poppy, Pomona, and Minerva together, grinning as Rolanda glared at them.

'If I may interject,' Rolanda said, 'Minerva and Poppy are both older than I am, thank you very much.'

Trudy nodded; she hadn't known, but it did make sense. The fit, muscular Quidditch referee looked only slightly younger than Trudy's senior colleagues.

'No need to bring up our past,' Poppy sniffed, her nose in the air.

'Yours, you mean,' Minerva said lazily, running a hand through her hair. 'Mine was marvellous, if I do say so myself.'

'Dumbledore's pet,' muttered Poppy _sotto voce, _but of course everyone heard.

'You're really funny, Poppy,' Minerva said dryly. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Did you two go to school together?' asked Trudy, surprised, though on the whole, she probably shouldn't have been.

'Sadly,' answered Poppy and the same time Minerva muttered 'unfortunately'.

'Oh, come off it, you two were ridiculously close,' Pomona said, cuffing Poppy around the head.

'I was the smart one,' Poppy said, grinning at Minerva, who rolled her eyes.

'Poppy, darling,' Minerva said, 'let us not forget who got top honours in Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, shall we? Not to mention,' she said, speaking over Poppy's protests, 'who won the Quidditch Cup four years running.'

'Just because you were Captain,' snapped Poppy, 'does not make you perfect, dear Minerva.'

'No,' Minerva agreed, 'but I was pretty damn close.' Pomona, Trudy and Rolanda burst out laughing.

'Come now, Poppy,' Minerva said to disgruntled school matron, 'you were made Ravenclaw Prefect in fifth year, weren't you?'

'Yes,' agreed Poppy, 'but you were Head Girl, remember?'

'Oh,' Minerva said. 'Right.'

Poppy finally chuckled and shook her head. 'You were too unpredictable to be a Prefect,' she said, with rare affection. 'To brilliant and Quidditch-obsessed.'

'I'm willing to concede that point,' Minerva said with a smile, as Trudy laughed.

It was getting on to midnight now, and although Trudy knew she ought to be leaving soon, she was reluctant to do so. She'd be dead tired tomorrow, though, having stayed up so late two nights in a row. The Ball hadn't been half as fun as this, although she did miss Filius' cheerful presence.

It was a little while later when the talk turned back to Minerva and Dumbledore – a fact that Minerva was less than pleased about.

'Minerva, may I ask you a question?' Rolanda requested, sobered up a little bit and sticking to gillywater.

'I suppose so,' Minerva allowed, having switched to gillywater herself some time ago.

'I was only wondering – you've worked with Dumbledore how long now? Forty years? How is it that you never got together during all that time?'

Minerva took another slow sip of gillywater before answering. 'Well,' she began, 'you know that there was a thirteen-year gap in between my last year at Hogwarts and when I first started working here. I'd mostly done Transfiguration research, writing papers, Animagi studies, that sort of thing. But during that time – I was married, as well.'

Trudy dropped whatever sweet she'd been holding in shock.

Minerva nodded. 'We were married when I was twenty-three,' she said, nodding to Poppy, who'd obviously been there. 'But he was killed just two years after that – some drunken wizard in a bar with a grudge against him.'

Trudy clapped a hand to her mouth in horror. Minerva looked at her with a smile, shaking her head. 'It's alright,' she assured her. 'It feels like a lifetime ago.'

'I didn't really have much to do with wizards in general over the next few years, with the exception of James Trapp,' Minerva continued. 'He was an Unspeakable for the Ministry, and we met when I was twenty-nine. Very nice wizard, very talented, and we quickly struck up a relationship.'

Poppy was shaking her head slowly, putting a hand on Minerva's shoulder.

'There was an accident a year later, and he ended up in St Mungo's, completely out of his mind. Some experimental study in the Department of Mysteries – I was never told exactly what. He died a short while later.'

Trudy was officially convinced that no one had worse luck than the woman sitting before her.

'So, you can imagine, when I first started at Hogwarts, men were very low on my priorities list. And then the war with You-Know-Who came, and the Death Eater trials, and war again…' Minerva shrugged and trailed off.

'There's also that minor fact of you not knowing if he was in love with you,' Pomona said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. It seemed to work, for Minerva laughed.

'There was that, too,' she agreed. 'Though that's not to say he is now. Anyway, on to more cheerful topics. Is that the last Ginger Newt you're about to eat, Pomona?'

Later, as she prepared for bed, Trudy was reminded again of the fact of how little she really knew her colleagues.

* * *

Up in the high, circular Head's office, Dumbledore frowned as he read the wrinkled newspaper Filius had given him that afternoon, _The Evening Prophet_ beside it on his desk. This was not good news – not at all.

**TBC**

_Hope you all enjoyed, and that it was worth the wait. Hopefully, updates won't be so long in coming :) Reviews please! :)_


	17. A Presence, An Absence

_Words cannot describe my guilt, so I will let this chapter do the talking. Hopefully, it'll pique your interest and be satisfying enough until I can scrape another chapter. Read and enjoy, as always :)_

**A Presence, An Absence**

'Watch your language, Rodgers,' Minerva snapped at the impassioned young boy who had, until very recently, been ranting to his friend about his latest mark. The boy – a bright Ravenclaw, Minerva knew – held her gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes and looking properly abashed. Minerva frowned at him but did not bother to take any points off. She was already late and the young little boy looked as though he would quite like to sink through the ground.

'Sorry, Professor,' Anthony Rodgers mumbled, staring at his feet. His friend stood behind him, trying to avoid the Transfiguration teacher's gaze. Minerva's eyes narrowed but she quickly sent them off, resuming her quick pace. She had a Head of House meeting in the staffroom, but she'd been caught up with Peeves on her way there. He was probably at least part of the reason students as young as second-years commanded the sort of language she'd expect from Hagrid on a bad night.

Arriving in the staff room only two minutes late, Minerva quickly seated herself at the table with the three other Heads, hooking her bag over the back of her chair. She drew out the daily planner she was responsible for and opened it to that day's date, already a week into January.

"I apologize,' Minerva said before Horace could speak. 'Peeves set up a delightfully amusing joke for anybody passing by Felix Summerbee's statue in the Charms corridor.'

'Did it involve Felix crashing down on someone's head?' asked Pomona, rolling up the sleeves of her robes and brushing a stray hair from her face.

'It did,' Minerva confirmed, rolling her eyes.

'No matter,' Filius said, shifting slightly on his stack of cushions that allowed him to sit at the proper height. 'Let us begin.'

'Any serious concerns with specific students?' Minerva began, dipping her quill into a bottle of ink and tapping it lightly on the edge. She unrolled a scroll of parchment and began to write as Horace, as usual, was the first one to speak.

'One of my fourth-years, Josef Brown, was overheard boasting that he'd beat up a Muggle over Christmas break, because, as was apparently heard, 'the fecking scum had it coming to him,'' Slughorn said, flipping through his notes. 'The student who overheard this was, I believe, a Hufflepuff third-year –?'

'Marjorie Finch,' Pomona confirmed, shuffling through a stack of papers. 'Hufflepuff third-year; half-blood; one parent deceased two years ago. Date of incident: January fourth. Reported: January fifth.'

'Confirmation?' Minerva asked, filling her parchment with neatly looped writing.

'A muggle was admitted to a small hospital in Cotgrave, Nottinghamshire, December twenty-eighth,' Horace answered with a slight frown. 'Found unconscious in an alleyway just past midnight. No evidence of magic used.'

'Connection?' Minerva continued without looking up.

'Josef Brown's family owns a cottage in the vicinity,' Slughorn answered. 'It is possible, but difficult to ascertain.'

'Marjorie Finch also lives in the area,' Pomona put in. 'Her father was killed by Death Eaters two years ago; it is also possible she made it up to avenge his death.'

Minerva finished writing and looked up. 'We're off the record,' she said after a moment. 'What do you think?'

'While I find it hard to believe that Miss Finch would invent something of that nature,' Pomona began, 'I find it even less likely that Brown would have committed what she's claiming he did.'

Minerva nodded before turning to the Potions Master. 'Horace?'

'I agree,' the round wizard said with a nod. 'While I may be predisposed to believe that a young, headstrong Slytherin is the most likely to do this, from what I know of Mr Brown, he seems a fairly level-headed and decent lad.'

Minerva nodded. 'I don't want a full-scale inquiry for this, you understand?' she asked. 'Miss Finch, while generally a kind girl, is still very young and naïve, and – correct me if I'm wrong – rather foolish?' Met with confirmations from her colleagues, Minerva continued, 'Good. Pomona, I want you to have a serious talk with the girl by the end of the week. If she confesses nothing, or insists that she did hear Mr. Brown, then Horace, you must speak with the boy. I want something concrete to go on in two weeks' time.' Minerva waited for their nods, and then continued. As meetings went, Head of House ones were routine and standard.

The next hour and a half went by quickly, so that when the clock struck half-past five, Minerva was reasonably satisfied with their progress.

'…which explains a rising interest in the Gobstones Club. Funding for minor extra-curricular groups is growing scarce,' Filius finished. Minerva nodded and completed the scroll of parchment.

'I will bring it up during the Governors' meeting next week,' Minerva said, glancing at the clock. 'Motion to adjourn?'

'Seconded,' said Horace, evidently keen to leave for his dinner party that night. He had apparently invited Maya Henderson, author of _Centaur Tribe: Beast or Human? _to his Slug Club meeting, and was eager to introduce her to one of his NEWT students in attendance.

'Motion passed,' Minerva said, gathering her things. 'Meeting adjourned.' She, Filius and Pomona stood, stretching leisurely, but Horace shot out of the room before Minerva could look around. Pomona and Filius chuckled.

'We didn't even overrun,' Pomona said appreciatively, glancing at the clock.

'Drink?' Filius offered, reaching in the cabinet hidden behind a tapestry and removing a bottle of Barolo from the depths of the shallow cavity.

'Go on, then,' Pomona said with a grin, as Minerva conjured three glasses. Filius poured the deep red wine carefully before setting in on the table. He accepted his glass from Minerva with a smile.

'Cheers,' he squeaked, clinking glasses with the other two. There was a moment of appreciative silence as the colleagues and friends sipped the wine. 'Lovely,' Pomona commented after a moment.

Minerva finished her wine quickly and set her glass on the table. 'I'm sorry, but I've to run,' she apologised. 'I've got to get those Governors' papers signed by the Headmaster; they were supposed to go off today.' Pomona and Filius grimaced sympathetically, and with that, Minerva set off.

At ten minutes to six, Minerva was knocking on the door to the Headmaster's office. She heard the customary 'Enter' and strode inside, her gaze falling immediately on a tall black wizard in dark blue robes.

'Minister!' Minerva intoned, surprised but pleased to see him. Kingsley Shacklebolt offered her a blinding smile and inclined his head as he rose to greet her.

'Professor McGonagall, it has been far too long,' the minister said, shaking her hand warmly.

'It has,' Minerva agreed readily. 'Minerva, if you please.'

'If you will return the favour,' replied Kingsley in his deep voice, one that had always been the voice of reason and calm during the years of the war. Though Minerva had never been one easily calmed, she and the current minister had always gotten on rather well, considering the fifteen year age gap – which wasn't particularly impressive, Minerva thought dryly, when compared to Dumbledore's seniority over her.

'Minerva,' Dumbledore greeted her with a smile, his piercing eyes meeting her own. 'May I assume it to be the Governors' papers?' he said, his eyes twinkling as he heaved a sigh.

'You may assume that, yes,' Minerva replied with the barest hint of a smile, dropping the stack of parchment on his desk. She turned to Kingsley. 'What brings you here?' she asked, curious now that she'd had time to think about his unexpected presence.

'Just some problems in northern Europe,' Kingsley said airily, a characteristic that did not at all suit him and that rendered Minerva immediately suspicious. 'No need to worry.'

'I hadn't been, actually,' Minerva replied archly, looking the Minister of Magic in the face. Kingsley seemed uncomfortable for a moment before turning to Dumbledore.

'I must go, I'm afraid,' he said to the headmaster, replacing his hat. 'I will contact you when we know more.'

'Of course,' Dumbledore murmured, shaking the proffered hand.

'I am sorry I cannot stay any longer,' continued Kingsley, turning to Minerva, 'but I must return to the ministry. Good evening, Minerva, Headmaster.' He bowed slightly to Minerva, inclined his head to Dumbledore and swept from the office.

Minerva, uninvited, seated herself in the chair Kingsley had just vacated. 'What's going on?' she demanded, getting straight to the point. Her eyebrows drew together over narrowed eyes.

'I shall inform you very shortly, Minerva,' Dumbledore said with a sigh. 'But for now: how did the Head meeting go?'

'Smoothly, as always,' Minerva answered coolly. 'I shall pass along the outline in due course.'

'Naturally,' Dumbledore murmured, pulling the papers Minerva had placed on his desk towards him. He selected a quill and perused the papers, lightly skimming the contents, though the routine was merely perfunctory; he knew Minerva had completed anything that needed to be done. Minerva remained in the chair opposite his desk, content to wait for answers once she was sure they were forthcoming. Dumbledore signed his name in loopy writing at the bottom of the last sheet and sighed as he replaced his quill on his desk.

'There are problems with the giants,' he finally began, laying the points of his fingers together and peeing at Minerva over his spectacles. 'The remaining ones have engaged in a massive brawl that is wreaking havoc on the neighbouring communities.'

'Filius' paper,' Minerva said as realization struck. 'That was what he wanted to show you the other day.'

'Indeed,' Dumbledore replied. 'The muggles believe it to be a series of earthquakes, but the giants may soon leave the mountains. Their arguments have reached massive proportions.'

Minerva frowned. Though, logically, she saw why the ministry would have to involve itself with this, she failed to connect it to the reason why Kingsley had come to Dumbledore. They appreciated his insight, yes; but Kingsley was an excellent leader, extremely responsible and not needing to question Dumbledore every thirty seconds.

'The ministry is desperately poor in numbers at the moment, as you well know,' Dumbledore continued. 'The de-corruption was a marvellous idea, but re-population of the workers will take a while longer.'

Minerva finally lost her patience. 'Albus, what is the point?' she demanded exasperatedly.

'The ministry has need of an ambassador of sorts,' he said. That was all he had to say.

Minerva, though in possession of quite an impressive temper, did not immediately respond. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She balled her hands tightly to keep them from shaking, placing them with deliberate carefulness into her lap. When she looked up, her voice was steady.

'You are that ambassador.' It was a statement, but her eyes sought confirmation nonetheless.

'The ministry wishes me to act as such, yes.'

'You have agreed.' Another statement, but this one received a different response than expected.

'I have not yet given my answer.'

Minerva muttered something under her breath. Albus had a shrewd suspicion that the phrase wasn't exactly singing his praises. 'But you will go,' Minerva finally surmised, thin lips pursed at him.

'I would rather not,' Albus began delicately, 'but I fear that this will soon take a turn for the worse if I do nothing.'

Minerva wanted to object, to insist that it was mad to think that one man could change so big – excuse the pun, she thought dryly – a problem. But a treacherous, whispering voice at the back of her mind prevented the words from leaving her lips – a whisper that suggested that, perhaps, if anyone could do it, it would be Dumbledore.

She still didn't like it.

'Well,' Minerva said after a long moment, 'I'd best be off to the Owlery.'

'I'm sorry?' Dumbledore said, raising his silver eyebrows.

'The papers,' Minerva replied with a matching eyebrow-raise of her own. 'I need to send them off tonight. Goodnight, Headmaster.' Minerva had collected the papers and was halfway to the door when her acute sense of hearing alerted her to the fact that Albus had moved. She stopped, hand the doorknob, waiting for his calm explanation of why he had to go, how it was all for the greater good –

His lips on her right ear was such a shock that she dropped – what had she been holding? His arms, twining around her narrow waist, pulled her gently against him. 'Why don't you stay a little while longer, hmm?' His lips brushed the shell of her ear as the softly spoken, persuasive words sent shivers down her spine. There was a pregnant pause, then;

'I think not,' Minerva replied shortly, drawing her wand to magic the fallen papers into her arms. She turned, caught sight of Albus' face – so he _had _been sincere – and stifled a smile. She rose up and kissed him; quickly, swiftly, naturally, then grinned almost wickedly and left, laughing all the way down the stairwell.

* * *

Pomona Sprout was missing something, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know what.

After the staff meeting, she'd gone to her office for a bit to catch up on the latest fifth-year essays. She'd left for dinner a bit early, perhaps to compensate for the fact that Horace would be absent, and had been surprised to find Minerva already there, in her place on the Headmaster's chair's right side, in an unusually good mood.

Dinner was a pleasant affair, but the conversation between the headmaster and his deputy was intriguing: clever, as always; light, unusually; and – dare she say it – perhaps slightly flirty?

'Did you owl the governors, Minerva?' enquired Dumbledore of the witch sitting next to him, a smiling crinkling the corners of his eyes as he swept his beard over his should.

'I did,' answered Minerva archly. 'Not that you were any particular help.'

Dumbledore chuckled as he handed Minerva the teapot. 'I can't say that I didn't attempt to hinder you a bit,' he admitted with a smile. 'Though I did rather enjoy it.'

'Oh, hush,' replied Minerva with gruff affection, turning her attention to her dinner, not noticing the looks shared between the rest of the staff. Dumbledore had seen, Pomona suspected, judging by the wink he sent her down the table, but he smiled into his beard and said nothing.

Smiling to herself, Pomona occupied herself with the tea, chatting to Trudy who was seated quietly on her right side.

'Is some the matter, Trudy?' Pomona asked after she'd teased the younger witch gently and received only a weak smile in return. She looked at the Muggle Studies teacher with concern, light brown eyes probing gently.

Trudy took a deep breath. 'I received a letter this morning,' she said with a brave attempt at a smile. 'Here.'

Pomona accepted the letter curiously, but understood what had happened as soon as she'd flipped it over. The McGonagall seal on the back of the envelope more than indicated its contents, but Pomona read it anyway.

'Oh, Trudy,' she sighed sympathetically. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's alright,' Trudy said with a watery smile. 'I knew how it would end from the beginning. I just thought I'd tell you, since, well…'

'Since we're friends,' Pomona inserted, patting the witch on the arm. 'Of course.'

Trudy looked slightly more cheerful at that, and turned back to her dinner. Pomona, however, wondered if perhaps McGonagalls in general were sometimes a bit _too _direct – at least when it came to setting someone straight about their feelings.

Oh, well. At least he hadn't led her on. Pomona loved Minerva dearly, and Minerva loved Bran, and that was good enough for her.

* * *

For all the students in the hall, no one immediately remarked on Professor Grubbly-Plank's presence – or, more noticeably, Hagrid's absence.

**TBC**

_Reviews always appreciated! Sorry if it's a bit short, time is also short in my life. It needs to grow a little longer :P Let me know what you think - too slow, too boring, not funny, not fluffy? How can I know if you don't tell me? ;) I will love you all forever if you leave me a review! Hope you enjoyed! :)_


	18. Giant Problems

_It's been a long wait, I know. I apologize for the delay, and I hope that no one's completely given up on the story. It's not abandonned, I promise. This is just a short chapter to keep you going, I hope you like it. Please forgive me, and review! :)_

_I'd like to dedicate this chapter to _**spin84**_, who was my motivation for this update. Thank you! (If you haven't checked out _spin'_s_ What The House Elves Saw, _I suggest you do so! It's a great and unique fic for all the ADMM fans out there. :P)_

**Giant Problems**

The third week of January dawned cold and bright, snow thick on the ground and the sky an endless blue. Paths were forged through the snow by the stamping feet of students and lead from Hagrid's hut and the Greenhouses to the front doors. The Giant Squid broke through the ice of the Black Lake and waved a tentacle lazily in the air. Excited first-years engaged in a furious snowball fight in the grounds, but the teachers were preoccupied with less frivolous things.

'Knight to E4,' Pomona said, wincing slightly as Filius grinned.

'Queen to E4,' Filius commanded, much more confident, rubbing his hands together as his white queen smashed Pomona's black knight to rubble with her throne. Slughorn and Connor McKinley cheered. Pomona sighed.

'Don't you all have marking to do?' Pomona snapped as Minerva swept in, her arms full of books. The older witch paused as she passed, peering down at the chess board for a moment.

'Castle to D3,' she said, nodding to Pomona's black chess piece. Filius narrowed his eyes at Minerva, ignoring his rook, who was shouting in fear at being cornered.

'Minerva,' he said, as Pomona clapped her hands in glee, 'could you please refrain from helping Pomona when I'm about to win?'

Minerva smiled slightly as she set her books on the table. 'I apologize, Filius,' she said. 'I hate to see the black pieces lose.'

Connor looked up, confused. 'Why's that?'

'Minerva's accustomed to seeing them win,' came a voice from the door. 'She would be, seeing as they are her pieces.' Dumbledore smiled as he entered the room, eyes sparkling in Minerva's direction as he came to stand near her. He rested his hand on the small of her back. 'Do you have a moment, Minerva?'

'Of course,' Minerva answered, her face growing solemn. She followed him out the door and into the hall. 'What's going on?'

'There are two things,' Dumbledore told her as he started down the corridor, 'the first of which is that I received a letter from Hagrid.' Minerva frowned in concern as she fell into step beside him, but Dumbledore cut her off before she could speak. 'He's fine, not to worry. The situation with the giants is growing worse, I'm afraid. I simply wanted to let you know that I may be leaving for a short while – in the future, nothing you need to worry about soon.'

Minerva frowned. 'I see,' she said, her robes swishing about the floor as they walked. 'May I take that to mean that Hagrid's leave of absence is indefinite?'

'Yes,' Dumbledore answered. 'His presence is hugely helpful, or so I've heard.'

Minerva nodded. She and Dumbledore had reached an unspoken settlement to agree to disagree. She did not approve of his interference with the giants, while Dumbledore maintained that he had to help. 'Well, if that is all,' Minerva began, but Dumbledore shook his head.

'The other thing,' he reminded her with a smile, 'is of a lighter nature. I wonder if I might persuade you to come to my rooms after dinner?' He smiled at her, quirking an eyebrow that left no room for doubt that he had matters other than school business on his mind.

'I daresay you'll find you can,' Minerva answered, offering him a quick smile. They reached the empty Transfiguration classroom. Minerva unlocked the door with a quick tap from her wand.

'Excellent,' Albus answered. 'Shall we say nine o'clock?'

'That suits me fine,' replied Minerva. 'Until then, Headmaster.'

With a mischievous smile, Dumbledore stepped into the classroom, lightly tugging Minerva with him. He shut the door with his heel and slid his arms around Minerva's waist. 'Oh, I don't know,' he smiled, 'I feel I can prolong our parting, hmm?'

'Albus, really,' Minerva said, pushing lightly against his chest. But Dumbledore kissed her quickly, stepping to the side of the door and locking it with a vague wave of his hand. He kissed her until Minerva broke the embrace.

'Don't be ridiculous,' she said, looking flustered, which Albus found quite endearing. 'Do you have any idea how old we are? We're not teenagers, Albus.' Dumbledore laughed as he stepped closer.

'More's the pity,' he said, grinning. 'Besides, I rather think that being a wizard has its advantages, don't you?'

'Oh?' Minerva replied, eyebrows raised as she took a step back. 'Do tell.'

'My dear,' Dumbledore said with a smile. 'Magical blood provides one with all sorts of wonderful energy. Besides which, had I not been a wizard, I would likely have been departed from this life years ago.'

'Cheerful thought,' Minerva muttered after a moment's pause. 'I suppose so. In any case,' she continued briskly, 'I have work to do. You've already convinced me for tonight – isn't that enough?'

'If you insist,' Dumbledore said with a mock sigh. 'Until dinner, then, dear Minerva.' He kissed her hand gallantly and swept from the room. Minerva shut the door behind him, a small smile on her face.

* * *

Leaving the staffroom after watching a game of chess between old man Flitwick and Pomona Sprout, Connor McKinley couldn't help but feel sad.

He was an intelligent wizard, and he was accustomed to being aware of his surroundings and circumstances at all times – his chosen profession ensured that. He was not, despite popular opinion, a bad person. He knew he'd handled the situation with Minerva poorly and that it had reflected badly on himself, perhaps permanently damaging his colleagues' opinion of him. What he needed right now, to put it bluntly, was a friend. However, he wondered whether any of his fellow teachers could trust him enough to accept his friendship. Everyone acted cordially enough, but despite having worked at Hogwarts for five months already, he didn't feel as though he'd made much progress in the comradeship department. And this time he had no ulterior motives behind the intent. He was lonely.

He was kind enough to be happy for Trudy that she'd fit in, found people with whom to spend time, but the smallest amount of envy mingled with his happiness for her. Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva seemed to have accepted her as a friend, and the gentle Pomona Sprout even appeared to have taken Trudy under her wing. No one had done that for Connor, but why? Did he appear so self-sufficient that everyone assumed he could handle everything himself? Or had his actions earlier in the year been more damaging than he'd thought? Either way, he was going to be here for at least the next two years, and those twenty-four months were going to be pretty miserable unless he could improve his situation.

He walked down the hallway towards his office, thinking of perhaps getting started on the sixth-year's homework, when Professor Vector and Madam Hooch turned the corner. Connor put on the brightest, warmed smile he could as he approached them.

'Good evening, Septima, Rolanda,' he said pleasantly. They looked up, surprised.

'Evening, Professor,' Hooch greeted him after a moment, while Vector offered him a vague smile. The two witches did not pause in the corridor, but kept walking, returning to their previous conversation as though there had been no interruption.

That was it. Connor was going to do something about this, even if it took drastic action. He turned on his heel and strode to Dumbledore's office determinedly, a plan already formed in his mind. He reached the stone gargoyle and spoke the password ('pepper imps') and rode the staircase to the top. He knocked.

The door swung open. Dumbledore looked up from his desk, a mildly surprised look on his face. 'Professor McKinley. What can I do for you?' He surveyed Connor with a piercing look in his eyes, and Connor deliberately softened his expression.

'May I sit down?' he asked, taking a slight step forward.

'Of course,' Dumbledore replied, gesturing to the chair opposite, laying down his quill, and smiling ever so slightly. 'What seems to be the problem?'

'I have a request to ask of you,' Connor began, awkward but determined. 'I would like to call a staff meeting…an informal one.'

Dumbledore nodded slowly. 'May I ask what for?' he said gently, his expression guarded.

Connor hesitated. 'It's of a personal nature,' he said, shifting in his seat. 'I wish to…make amends.' He looked into the headmaster's face with difficulty. 'I realise that this is an odd request,' he added hastily, filling the silence.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. 'Would you prefer your own meeting, or would time after our biweekly staff meetings be sufficient? I believe there is one this Friday.'

'I'd be grateful for whatever time can be spared,' Connor said honestly, trying not to appear too eager.

'Very well then,' Dumbledore said. 'I will be prepared to listen to whatever you have to say this Friday.'

'Thank you, Headmaster,' Connor replied, standing. 'I appreciate it.'

'Not at all,' Dumbledore said, standing as well. 'I will see you at dinner.' Connor nodded and bade Dumbledore good-bye, not noticing the curious look on the headmaster's face.

* * *

'Any change?'

Hagrid shook his head, wiping the sweat from his face with a massive handkerchief. 'Nah,' he answered the ministry official who had questioned him upon his return from the mountain. 'Still got the same Gurg – Magrand – leadin' everyone.'

The wizard, a broad-shouldered man named Burt, sighed as he scribbled on the parchment in front of him. 'Bloody fantastic,' he grumbled, his back cracking as he stood. 'And there was another riot last night – damn near well destroyed Villefranche, there's another half a million Galleons.' Villefranche was the closest muggle town, a mere fifteen miles from the giants' mountains.

'Seen Olympe?' Hagrid asked, splashing water on his face and drying it off with his shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to his elbows. Burt jerked his head east.

'Just got back from scouting herself, I think – but I'll be damned if she's got anything different from what you do. Reckon she's over with Karofsky, he always was a bugger when it came to interrogatin'.' Hagrid nodded his thanks and ducked out of the tent. He crossed the field where the ministry was set up, several tents with the Ministry of Magic official logo on them pitched and witches and wizards hurrying about. Reaching a large tent, Hagrid pulled the flap aside and went inside.

''Agrid!' said Madame Maxime when she noticed his entranced. 'When did you return?'

'Few minutes ago,' Hagrid answered, striding to her side. 'Are yeh alright? You got a bit of a bruise,' he asked. Madame Maxime's hand went to her neck, where a large purple bruise made extended down her shoulder.

'Yes, of course,' the half-giantess replied. 'It was ze rocks, zey fell down from ze mountain.' Hagrid nodded, heaving a sigh as a large horn sounded, signalling the first of the two dinner hours.

'Yeh comin' down fer dinner?' he asked. 'Reckon we've done all we can fer today.' Madame Maxime nodded and fell into step next to Hagrid as they left the tent. They headed for the mess hall, a large tent that could hold up to two-thirds of the entire group. Hagrid looked up at the dark sky as they crossed the field.

'We're gonna need yeh, Dumbledore,' he muttered to himself. 'There isn't much left we can do.'

* * *

'Just a moment, please,' Dumbledore said, standing at the head of the table. 'If you could all wait a moment.'

The biweekly staff meeting had just concluded, and as promised, Dumbledore held his teachers back, nodding to Connor, who nervously got to his feet. Dumbledore had a vague idea what this was about, but all the same, it would interesting to see where it went. Minerva shot him a look – she hadn't known this was coming.

'Thank you,' Connor began, moving to the head of the table as Dumbledore quietly moved away, offering him the floor. 'I apologize for taking up more of your time. This will only take a minute.'

Exchanging curious glances, the staff re-seated themselves. Connor straightened and cleared his throat, levelling his gaze on his co-workers.

'I've never done anything quite – quite like this. I recognize that this may be uncomfortable for everyone, but it is something that I – I must do. This is about…about everything, really. My intention isn't to dwell on the past, but to air it out – to put things right. I made a mistake, in the beginning. It concerned Professor McGonagall and – and myself, but I know that due to my actions, my behaviour affected everyone else. For that, I apologize. What concerns me more is the damage I may have done to the friendships I began to develop. I behaved inappropriately, selfishly, and immaturely, and I sense that I established a reputation for myself – not a favourable one. I want to repair what I've done, as much as possible.' He turned to Professor McGonagall. 'Minerva, I am truly sorry. My behaviour toward you was abominable, and you were justified…and correct…in everything that you said. Professor Dumbledore,' facing the headmaster, 'this was a matter that should never have troubled you. I made unfair and embarrassing accusations, and I apologize for that as well. To the rest of you…I want to try to set things right. I'm not a bad person. I didn't mean to insult or hurt anyone. I'm so – so sorry for everything that I did, and what I want to say, really, is that I hope that you can forgive me, and that we can put this all behind us and start anew. Everyone has been cordial enough – but I'd like to – I would like to make friends here, at Hogwarts. All I ask for is a chance to prove myself. That's all – all I had to say. Thank you.'

Connor bowed his head and strode from the room without looking back.

TBC

_Review please, and I hope you enjoyed. You don't need to tell me that the chapter was pathetically short, I know that already. ;)_


	19. Foolishness, Bravery: One and the Same

_My humblest apologies for the massive wait between updates - I hope no one's lost interest in the story! I cannot thank my reviewers enough, and I dedicate this to everyone who's managed to stick it out during this long, painful process. ;) Read, enjoy, and review! _

**Foolishness and Bravery, One and the Same**

Professor McGonagall had just gotten into her marking mode, which generally was more difficult on a Saturday than a weekday. In this mood she could mark as much as an entire class's homework in just an hour, and do so effectively and efficiently. It had taken her over a decade to perfect this method of marking, and it was one that she was extremely proud of and grateful for. Her body would take over and she would sink into a state of total concentration, so much so that Severus Snape had once blown up an entire deck of Exploding Snap cards in her face because she hadn't noticed him enter. Since then, she'd done her best to offer a sliver of her attention to her surroundings, but still, her focus was so complete that her mood, patience, and sympathy were likely to drop below ground level if she was disturbed.

It was then that a knock interrupted her.

Minerva growled as she glanced up at the clock on the wall, which cheekily announced that it was only two in the afternoon – barely late enough for a serious drink. She genuinely considered ignoring whoever it was and returning to her work, but with a long-suffering sigh and another glare, she shoved herself to her feet. Besides, she'd already been disturbed; it would take another few minutes to get back into her groove.

The boy on the other side of the door was Jimmy Peakes, the young Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He was shuffling his feet and looking at the floor, his head jerking upwards to cower before his Head of House. 'Mr. Peakes?' Minerva inquired, attempting to limit the impatience in her voice. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

'Professor Slughorn sent me to see you, Professor,' the young boy mumbled, speaking to Minerva's knees. Consequently, he did not see Minerva close her eyes, and did therefore not appreciate the mammoth effort it took for his Transfiguration teacher not to order him to go tell Slughorn to bugger off and deal with discipline himself. She opened her eyes and took a step back. 'You'd better come in.'

Once Peakes was seated on the other side of her desk, Minerva rigid in her chair, the homework she had been marking was stacked into a pile and relegated ungraciously to the corner of her desk. Minerva supposed it would be inappropriate to pour herself a drink.

'What's all this about?' she asked, eyeing her student as he squirmed guiltily and hung his head. 'And if your neck is that sore, Peakes, please conduct yourself to the Hospital Wing,' she snapped harshly. Jimmy hastily looked up and straightened self-consciously.

'Professor Slughorn spoke to me after lunch,' the broad-chested boy mumbled. 'He, um, noticed that I'd been late to Potions on Friday, and wanted to speak with me about it.' He looked at Minerva, who took a deep breath.

'How many times have you been late to Professor Slughorn's class?' she asked, not really wanting the answer. Jimmy mumbled something incoherent and dropped his gaze. 'I cannot hear you, Peakes,' Minerva snapped irritably.

'Seventeen, Professor,' Jimmy finally said, more clearly. Minerva took another calming breath. 'Professor Slughorn told me to tell you,' he continued, his voice growing louder and more anxious, 'that as punishment for my tardiness he suggests a – a detention next Saturday morning.'

Saturday morning. Of course, Horace Slughorn, you conniving Slytherin, Minerva thought. The biggest Quidditch game of the year so far was to take place on Saturday morning at ten o'clock, between Slytherin and Gryffindor. The outcome of the match would determine second place, and now Slughorn had just put one of her Beaters out of commission. Minerva closed her eyes for a moment, and then made a snap decision. She hid a mischievous smile and frowned at Peakes.

'Very well,' she said. 'Your detention will take place with me, Saturday morning.' Peakes looked horrified.

'But Professor – the match – you can't –'

'Don't tell me what I can and cannot do, Peakes,' Minerva snapped, though a more experienced facial interpreter might have noticed the sparkle in her eyes. 'In fact, in order to emphasize the consequences of tardiness, I am assigning you not one, but three detentions.' Peakes opened his mouth in dismayed protest, but Minerva did not pause. 'Your first detention will take place in my office. And in order to impress upon the importance of punctuality, it will begin at six-thirty in the morning and conclude two hours later.' Peakes opened his mouth, closed it again, and furrowed his brow in confusion.

'You may go,' Minerva dismissed the boy. 'Saturday morning, my office.' Peakes stood slowly, a look a dawning comprehension crossing his face. He turned to his teacher incredulously. Minerva raised an eyebrow.

'Well?' she asked. 'What are you still doing here?' Jimmy seemed to jolt out of his reverie. He hurried from the office as though he could not move fast enough. Minerva heard him laughing all the way down the corridor.

Horace was going to murder her, she thought. But the look on his face would be worth it. Humming, Minerva pulled her marking towards her and continued her work. Almost immediately, however, a thump resounded throughout the office, startling her. Her hand was at her wand before she noticed that it was an owl that had crashed into the window.

Scowling, Minerva stood and opened the window. The owl, a small, ruffled-looking brown one, hopped inside with a letter tied to its leg. Minerva untied the grubby, messy letter from the unfamiliar owl's leg and began to read. Sinking down into her chair, Minerva didn't notice the small bird hooting impatiently.

When she had finished reading, Minerva sat in silent thought. This news was far from what she, or anyone, wanted to hear, and it would require almost immediate action. But how to go about doing it…?

'Welma!' Minerva called, coming to a decision. With a crack, a wizened house-elf appeared, an ancient female named Welma. The spindly creature bowed.

'Yes, Mistress? How can Welma serve?' Minerva pursed her lips and considered for a moment – this was risky business, but she needed a confident. And she could trust this elf, who was from McGonagall Manor and whom Minerva had brought with her when she first began teaching. Welma had been her childhood friend in many ways.

'Welma, I have a request of you,' Minerva began, looking into Welma's large green eyes. 'It requires absolute discretion, do you understand?' Welma nodded, her wrinkled face solemn.

'Miss Minerva knows Welma will not betray her,' Welma replied. This was one of the reasons Minerva had chosen her own personal house-elf for this task; though she had several of the Hogwarts' elves at her command, all of them would be forced to answer to the Headmaster truthfully. None of the other teachers, Minerva knew, had house-elves that were not under the Headmaster's command; Minerva only had one because her family, a wealthy pure-blood clan, had been able to afford more than one.

'Thank you,' Minerva answered, glancing around. Alastor Moody – Merlin keep his suspicious soul – had always insisted on constant vigilance, and though Minerva had snapped at him on more than one occasion for his incessant paranoia, she was willing to admit that she did, on occasion, follow his advice. 'I need you to read this letter, commit it to memory, and then destroy it. And then I need your help.'

Minerva handed the grubby letter to Welma, who accepted it with a bow. 'Miss Minnie knows she can trust Welma,' the elf said, having gained the right to the irritating nickname in her seventy-some years of service.

'Yes,' Minerva answered after a moment, 'I do.'

* * *

'Connor, m'boy!' boomed Horace Slughorn as Professor McKinley made his way down the corridor. 'Why don't you join me for a spot of dessert, eh? I've got a bottle of mulled mead from Rosmerta, she always sends the best.' Connor turned to face the Potions master, surprised. A small boy, Johnny – no, Jimmy – Peakes was scampering away from the jolly wizard, though Connor suspected he hadn't been as jolly a few moments before.

'I do have a bit of marking to do,' he began, but Slughorn cut him off, waving a dismissive hand, his large stomach jostling jovially.

'Nonsense!' he said enthusiastically. 'It's Saturday, take a bit of time off. Lunch has only just ended; I could do with a drink and a bit of crystallized pineapple.' Connor glanced around involuntarily; Minerva or Pomona would most certainly have disapproved of speaking aloud about drinking while there were students about.

'That stuff is expensive,' Connor hedged, glancing around again, then back at Slughorn.

'Get it for free from old Madge in Diagon Alley, and don't prevaricate,' Slughorn said with a good-natured grin. 'Come now, join me for a bit.' Connor hesitated, deliberating, then finally accepted with a reluctant smile.

'Thanks,' he said awkwardly. Despite himself, he liked the old wizard, liked his cheer and his disregard for Slytherin stereotypes.

'Good lad,' answered Slughorn with a knowing smile. 'Come on, then.'

One hour later found an empty bottle of mead, two glasses, half a box of crystallized pineapple, and two very loud, very happy wizards in Slughorn's study. Connor was clutching his stomach, roaring with laughter as Slughorn hiccupped his way through a story.

'And then she tells me, 'Ol' Sluggy, is it? I'm sorry sir, but you can't bring a vampire to dinner here!' Connor rolled around in his comfy chintz armchair, tears of laughter streaming down his face. Slughorn's jolly belly laugh filled the room as his sugar-coated fingers reached for more pineapple.

'Some people,' Connor said, reaching for his glass, 'some people just can't understand true entertainment.' He frowned at his empty glass and set it back on the table with a shrug.

'Some people can, that's the good thing,' Slughorn hiccoughed. 'I remember the staff party of – Merlin, must've been '72. Had a good few drinks, whole staff was smashed in no time.'

'Even the Headmaster?' Connor asked, brightening as Slughorn pulled another bottle from nowhere and filled the two glasses.

'Oh, yes,' Slughorn answered, taking a gulp of the mead. ''Course, Albus has never been a very interesting drunk – just smiles and laughs and tells a few more jokes. But to see Poppy and Minerva, that was damn funny.' Connor raised his eyebrows and took a few swallows of his drink.

'Minerva?' he asked, trying to remember if he'd ever seen her drunk.

'Mm-hm,' replied Slughorn, unconcerned. ''S matter of fact, might've been her that supplied the whiskey. Good stuff.' There was a moment of silence as both wizards considered the bottom of their glasses.

'Did Madam Pomfrey ever marry?' Connor wondered, half-to himself.

'Some bloke from Magical Maintenance, back in the forties,' Slughorn answered. 'Killed during the first war against You-Know-Who.'

'And you?' Connor said, taking the bottle and emptying it.

'No,' Slughorn said. He clapped Connor clumsily on the back. 'We're just bachelors, you and I,' he said, his words slightly slurred. 'For life, just living it out. Nothing better, right?'

'Cheers,' Connor grinned, and both men drank deeply. For some reason, Connor didn't find the thought at all depressing.

Suddenly, Minerva's brisk voice echoed throughout the room. 'Horace? Have you got Connor with you?' Slughorn turned to the fireplace, where Minerva's voice was coming from.

'Yes,' he answered. 'What going on?'

'Dumbledore called an emergency staff meeting,' Minerva said. There was a cold pause. 'He's leaving.'

All of a sudden, Connor felt more sober than he'd ever felt in his life.

* * *

'The situation with the giants as reached a boiling point,' Dumbledore was saying as Connor and Horace hurried in, looking grim. 'The nearest muggle town has had to evacuate, though they do not know the real cause. I must go do what I can.' Connor glanced at Slughorn, who, to his surprise, was watching not Dumbledore, but Minerva. Her mouth was in a thin line and her arms were crossed, her eyes slightly narrowed. She said nothing.

'Hagrid has already offered his help, as you all know,' Dumbledore continued. 'His help was invaluable, but unfortunately, not enough. It is my turn to do my part. It will be dangerous, which is why you must all stay here.' He glanced at Minerva, who did not look at him.

'When do you leave?' asked Flitwick, his normally cheerful expression solemn.

'Very soon. Now, as a matter of fact. I apologize for the short notice, but I'm confident that I am leaving the school in capable hands,' Dumbledore said, fastening his heavy travelling cloak about his shoulders. 'I intend to return as soon as possible. Good-bye, all.' The staff raised their hands in farewell, calling out good-byes and well-wishes. Still Minerva said nothing, her eyes narrowed.

'Good-bye, Minerva,' Dumbledore said to her, his eyes seeming to pierce straight through her. The others watched in silence. Dumbledore turned to go.

'Oh, for the love of –,' Minerva snapped, and she took two brisk steps after him. She grabbed his shoulder and jerked him around. Swiftly taking a hold of his face with both hands, she kissed him. Dumbledore pulled her to him lightly, his hands on her narrow waist, and kissed her back. It was a long moment before they broke apart.

Breathing slightly ragged, Dumbledore leaned his forehead against Minerva's. There was a pause, and then Minerva pulled back, considering him for a moment.

'Don't do that again,' she finally said curtly.

'No, Minerva,' acquiesced Albus with a grin. He kissed her once, then twice, his mouth on hers just a moment too long for it to be considered light, before leaving for good.

There was another heavy silence, one that filled the room. Connor couldn't quite believe that Dumbledore had just left. Minerva, then, was now Headmistress, Filius the deputy. How long would Dumbledore be? Connor mused.

'That was quite the farewell,' Slughorn finally said to Minerva, trying to ease the tension.

'Shut up,' Minerva snapped, and silence fell again.

* * *

Dumbledore shook hands with Frank Jordan, the head of the International Giant Liaison Office. He was from England, but Dumbledore, looking around the field where they'd set up, could see representatives from Britain, Sweden, Norway, and, of course, France.

'Professor Dumbledore,' he said, greeting the old wizard warmly. 'Thank you for coming. I apologise for dragging you here, but as you can see, we're in bad shape.' Dumbledore nodded in agreement; in the distance, he could see three emergency tents, overflowing with the wounded and harried healers.

'It's quite alright,' he assured the man. 'I wish I could have come sooner, but there were some complications.'

'Hagrid should be here soon,' Jordan said, glancing around. 'He was pleased to hear you were coming. He set off on a reconnaissance mission a few hours ago.' Jordan nodded at a wizard passing by. 'Now, here's what's going to happen. We need to get you an audience with the Gurg. He's not the friendliest bloke in the world, but we're pretty certain that he knows you and, worse comes to worst, we'll have a team of Aurors nearby.' Dumbledore nodded as they two made their way to a large tent with the Ministry of Magic seal splashed across it. 'The trick is getting to the giants in the first place. Apparition won't work, and using a portkey is downright dangerous, depending on where you land. That leaves going in by foot or by broom, and we've tried both, but even Hagrid and Maxime haven't gotten very far. We haven't yet managed a path down to the main valley. The best we can do – and what we have been doing – is to stop the worst of the damage on nearby towns, though if all the giants are riled up there's not much we can do.' They entered the tent, which was full of tables and desks and people working. Jordan led Dumbledore to a map and pointed at several blue dots that had been inked in.

'Here's where we've managed mostly safe recon sites – these three here were established by Hagrid and Olympe. At the moment, we're trying to get a path cleared that will take you to the Gurg.'

'How are you doing that?' Dumbledore asked. He though for a moment that a flash of apprehension had appeared in Frank's eyes, but the next second it had gone.

'There are a few giants within the clan that are sympathetic to us. We've been trying to reach them and get their help, and from there clear a path. It's been tricky getting to them, though.'

'But you're closer now?' Dumbledore continued, intrigued.

'Well, yes,' Jordan answered, looking uncomfortable. He didn't elaborate.

'How?' Dumbledore persisted, but just then Jordan glanced up, his expression clear.

'Here's Hagrid!' he called loudly, startling some of the workers. A large shadow blocked the sun as Hagrid bent down to look in the mouth of the tent.

'Professor Dumbledore!' Hagrid called, beaming. 'Good te see yeh, sir.'

'You as well, Hagrid,' Dumbledore replied, smiling up into the large bearded face. He exited the tent, and Hagrid straightened. This time, Dumbledore was sure he hadn't imagined it – yes, there was a flash of apprehension in those beetle black eyes. Hagrid was far from as smooth as Jordan was, who followed Dumbledore out.

'Hagrid, could you take Dumbledore over to Madame Justine's tent?' Jordan asked. 'She wanted to know when he got in. Justine's from the International Magical Co-operation Department in France,' he added to Dumbledore. 'She'll fill you in on the details.'

The walk to Justine Lebeau's tent was oddly disconcerting, in Albus' mind. Hagrid seemed equal parts relieved that Dumbledore had arrived, and on edge. For what, Dumbledore didn't know.

'It's good to see yeh, Professor,' Hagrid was saying, but he didn't quite meet Dumbledore's eyes. 'It's a shame that yeh had to come, leavin' the school an' all, but you're needed here.'

'Yes, I suppose so,' Dumbledore answered cheerfully, not letting his concern colour his voice. 'Hopefully this can be sorted out soon.'

'Yeah,' agreed Hagrid. 'Should be easier, now we've got – got you,' Hagrid said, stumbling oddly over the last bit of his sentence. 'Bin tough, but there's not much we can do but what we're doin' already, I suppose.' Dumbledore nodded in easy agreement.

Justine Lebeau's tent was the light shade of blue that distinguished all delegates from France, a small French flag waving by the entrance. Hagrid hesitated by the entrance. 'I don' reckon Miss Lebeau is too keen on me,' he said after an awkward pause. 'I'll go 'round to Olympe's tent. Comin' fer dinner?'

'Yes, of course,' Dumbledore answered, watching Hagrid amble off awkwardly. Something was amiss here, and he didn't know what. With a sigh, he steeled himself and poked his head in the tent.

'Madame Lebeau?' he called, looking around the tent that was, after all, much bigger on the inside than it appeared. A lady off to the side looked up sharply.

'Professor Dumbledore?' she questioned, hand at her wand. Her beady eyes narrowed at him, reminding him, absurdly, of Minerva.

'Yes,' he replied. 'I've just spoken with Frank Jordan.' Justine eyed him, her sharp gaze sweeping him up and down. Apparently, he passed her inspection, for she nodded slightly and gestured for him to enter.

'Good,' she said derisively. 'He's remembered something. Jordan's got his head unscrewed half the time, wanders around with as much sense as a flobberworm.' She turned to face him fully, and Albus got his first good look at the women he suspected he wouldn't warm up to.

She was short, despite the heel on the stout boots she was wearing, which peeked out from under sturdy blue robes. Her hair was a mass of tight brown curls that fell to her shoulders, and her eyes were light brown and sharp, framed by narrow black glasses. Despite her French heritage, her accent was profoundly English. She wore a permanent scowl.

'Come in, then,' she said shortly, turning back around. 'I've got the details for you here.' Dumbledore approached the witch reluctantly, bracing himself for a long stay.

* * *

It was late that night when Dumbledore reached the mess hall, the large tent used for meals. He immediately spotted Hagrid and Olympe Maxime at a magically reinforced table near the back of the hall, but the table looked more crowded than he would have expected. He swept over to them, frowning slightly at their reactions. Frank Jordan, whom Dumbledore was surprised to see, jumped at the sight of him and glanced over his shoulder. Hagrid looked away from Dumbledore as soon as their eyes met, clearing his throat loudly. Everyone at the table fell silent at the sight of the Headmaster, who was utterly baffled.

'Professor Dumbledore,' Jordan greeted him, clasping his hands in front of him. 'Ah, I wonder if I might speak to you outside for a moment?' Dumbledore, who decided that everything had gone far enough, raised his eyebrows.

'It won't take long,' Jordan added, as if that the determining factor. 'Come along.'

'Oh, enough,' snapped a man Dumbledore recognized as Mark Karofsky, Madam Maxime's co-ordinator. 'Just tell him.'

'Tell me what, precisely?' inquired Dumbledore coolly, looking to Hagrid, was appeared supremely uncomfortable. Dumbledore, quite frankly, did not understand.

Then his confusion turned to horror as, at first hidden behind Hagrid's massive form, a witch rose to her feet. She stepped away from the table and met his eyes coolly. It was Minerva.

* * *

It had been difficult. Not much escaped Dumbledore's notice, and this was something that, while it had to be hidden for as long possible, could not possible remain secret for long. That night when Minerva had received Hagrid's letter, a messy scrawl telling that her that they needed an Animagus desperately, she'd wondered if Dumbledore would allow her to go. He would be unwilling to have them both gone from the school – the last time it had happened, Unbridge had come uncomfortably close to total dictatorship – and the danger of the situation would instil a certain disinclination for her participation in him. Perhaps he might have even pulled rank, and that wasn't a chance she'd been willing to take.

The only things that gave her an advantage were that he knew of her disapproval of his interference. Albus knew that she did not like him going, that she objected to the whole sordid affair. Her involvement made no sense, so he had no reason to suspect her. And, Minerva had thought bitterly, any odd behaviour on her part could have been chalked up to his departure. It was almost easy to deceive him.

Until now.

He looked as though he'd been struck in the face by something heavy, and her heart ached for him, but her resolution stood firm. She had logic on her side, and she was determined. Minerva McGonagall had never allowed men to rule her life, and she wasn't about to start now.

The staff had been horrified to hear that she was leaving. As a matter of fact, she'd actually beaten Dumbledore to France, despite his head start.

'_Shut up,' Minerva snapped at Horace. She went to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and pulled out a heavy travelling cloak, gloves, and a scarf. _

'_Where are you going?' asked Horace after a moment. Minerva fastened the cloak around her shoulders but continued to face the wall, wrapping the heavy scarf around her neck. _

'_France,' she answered, turning to face her staff. _

_There was a pause, a heartbeat, and then Poppy was on her feet and Pomona was behind her, both of them in Minerva's face, shaking their heads and saying loud, unintelligible words. 'Enough,' Minerva said, sidestepping her friends. _

'_You can't do this,' Filius said, jumping off his chair to stand in her way. _

_Minerva's temper snapped. 'Actually, Filius, I can. As of right now, you are Headmaster, and Pomona, you are deputy until my return. The substitute for Transfiguration will be here by Monday, the paperwork in the governors' hands by this afternoon. My lesson plans, schedules, and time tables are on my desk in my office. I am leaving.'_

'_You have no way to get there,' protested Slughorn, Trudy nodding silently in the background. 'Stay a minute and think about this, Minerva.'_

'_I have thought about it,' Minerva retorted. 'I have every right to claim my vacation time at any point during the year, provided that I leave my position organized, and I have accumulated enough time over the past forty years that I can manage this trip. I am going to France, to fix this giant situation, because I have the ability to help, because I was asked, and because I choose to.' She looked everyone in the eye. _

'_But, Dumbledore –' began Connor, the first time he spoke. _

'_No one in this room knew anything of my plans, and so Dumbledore will not hold anyone but myself accountable,' Minerva replied readily. 'It is within my right to leave, and leave I will.'_

'_You can't,' Pomona said, grabbing Minerva's arm. 'The distance is too far for Apparition, and portkeys to France are impossible to come by nowadays.'_

_Minerva shook off her friend's arm. 'Good-bye.' She held out her hand. With a crack, a wizened house-elf appeared, grasped the outstretched hand with her own, and before anyone could cry out, both Minerva and the elf had vanished. _

Minerva's role was simple. She would transform into a tabby cat and slink into the giants' camp, find the rebel giants, and gain their trust. As soon as she could, she would, with these giants' help, establish a safe route for wizards to approach the Gurg, the chief of the giants. The current Gurg had thankfully heard of Dumbledore and his desire to help them, and so everyone was hopefully that the meeting would end the battles. Dumbledore didn't know the extent of her involvement, thank Merlin.

It was dangerous, of course, but this wasn't the first time she'd risked her life. Hell, she thought wryly, her entire life was the summation of countless risks, of recklessness, and of foolish bravery. A perfect Gryffindor cliché. Her current – _complication _– with Dumbledore threw a bit of scandal into her typical existence. It was all rather daring, and Minerva couldn't help but appreciate the exhilaration it provided her. Of course, that it came at Dumbledore's emotional expense put a bit of a damper on things.

He was still staring at her, with eyes that pierced through to her soul. They needed to talk, and in the middle of a crowded tent surrounded by international delegates was not the setting she had in mind. Fortunately, her non-verbal communication with Dumbledore was still very much in place, so the two of them strode from the tent without looking at each other.

Once they were a suitable distance away, Dumbledore turned to face her. Her sharp eyes immediately noticed a slight tremble in his hands before he clasped them behind his back. She raised her eyes to his face and held his gaze unflinchingly – _let's see how long that lasts_, she thought harshly.

'Minerva,' he murmured. 'Oh, Minerva, why didn't you tell me?'

Minerva straightened slightly. She'd been dealing with this man for forty years, and she'd be damned if she couldn't deal with him now. 'I couldn't risk your reaction,' she answered, harsh but honest. 'I needed to come.'

'I would never have forbidden you from coming,' Dumbledore said, sadness clouding his usually bright eyes. 'I would have tried to change your mind, yes. I would have used any and all utilities at my disposal to convince you otherwise, yes.' It was a time for brutal honesty; they both knew he could manipulate when necessary, and he would have in order to prevent her from coming. 'Minerva, you know me. I cannot force you into anything. I learned that years ago.'

Minerva flinched at the reminder of an incident, long passed, and jerked herself forcibly to the present. 'It was not a chance I was willing to take,' she replied coolly, keeping her emotions at bay.

'Then you do not trust me,' Dumbledore said, holding the gaze she still refused to drop. Minerva clenched her hands. Was he _trying_ to make her angry? She had decent control of her temper, yes, but what kind of a statement was that?

'Don't be foolish, Albus,' she snapped at him. 'This isn't the time for it.'

'I see no better time than the present!' Dumbledore cried spiritedly. 'Minerva, you snuck to France under the impression that I, of all people, would restrain you from going! What better indication of mistrust is there than this?'

'Enough, Albus,' Minerva snapped, determined to keep her cool. 'You're overcomplicating things. Had I told you of my plans, you would have tried to change my mind. Don't interrupt!' she added stridently. 'I couldn't handle your attempts, Albus. You would have been capable of convincing me otherwise, and I couldn't risk that. This isn't a question of trust, Albus, this is a question of my ability to say no to you!'

Well, bugger, she'd gone and lost her head. Angry, both at herself and at him, she turned her back and paced away, facing the sinking sun. When had her life gotten so bloody complicated? She was a witch of straight-forwardness, of frankness and no-nonsense; she had no use for subtleties and hints. She didn't need this drama.

'Minerva,' Dumbledore said softly. 'Minerva, please, look at me.' Minerva resisted the temptation to refuse, to keep her back turned to him like a stubborn child, but she turned to face him, eyeing him coldly.

'You are right, Minerva,' he finally said. 'It's simply that I wish you could have stayed…uninvolved. I don't like to see you at risk – though you'd think I'd be used to it by now.' Minerva sighed, accepting this. He hadn't promised to refrain from convincing her of anything again, but she hadn't expected him to. It was part of him to want to keep people safe and happy.

'I'm still angry at you,' Minerva finally said, uncrossing her arms, which had, at some point, folded tightly against her.

'I know. I forgive you too,' he answered cheekily, winking at her. He drew closer to her, and she permitted him to wrap his arms around her waist, to tuck her head under his chin. They stood like that for a moment, and then he lowered his head and kissed her, his mouth gently and light. But then Minerva stepped back, cocking an eyebrow.

'Minerva?' he questioned, tilting his head to the side. She smiled slightly at the sight.

'I'm glad we've sorted this out,' Minerva said. 'But if you'll excuse me, it's time for my outing, and now I've missed dinner.'

'Outing?' Dumbledore repeated, taking a step toward her and she drew slowly away.

'Yes,' she answered. 'I'm going into the giants' camp.' And then she was gone, Dumbledore left standing, mouth agape, in the face of Minerva's suspiciously Slytherin trickery.

**TBC**

_Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed. Another chapter is in the works, and hopefully it won't take as long this time around. I apologize, this chapter seems to have grown a little bit beyond what I intended - they grow up so fast! :P Reviews please, and hope you enoyed! :-)_


	20. New Developments

_I expect anyone who's still remotely interested in this story will want to get to reading, so I'll save the rambling author's notes for the end, shall I?_

**New Developments**

For four days after Minerva McGonagall had gone to France, nary a word came from her or from Dumbledore. Flitwick, Sprout and Slughorn were doing their best to keep things running as smoothly as possible, but the lack of the two highest forms of authority in the castle had taken its toll. Flitwick had no idea how Dumbledore's filing system worked (he changed it every decade or so), not to mention the fact that they hadn't needed a substitute teacher for Transfiguration in over forty years, and Pomona, close friends with Minerva, felt constantly worried for her. Four days without outside help (the Governors, in Pomona's usually gentle phrasing, were less than useless) was four days too many.

On the morning of the fifth day, a large, ruffled brown owl crashed into Flitwick's bowl of porridge, a letter tied to its leg, its wings trembling from exhaustion. Filius recognized the handwriting on the envelope at once, and slid open the letter – note, really – with a quick tap from his wand. He hesitated for only a moment before reading, feeling equal parts relief and trepidation. Finally, he read it through once, then twice, going more slowly the second time.

_Fil –_

_Breathe and calm down. Everyone here is fine. Things are tight, I won't lie, and communication is difficult, so I wouldn't expect much in the way of post from me. If there's an emergency, send me a patronus. I haven't much time, so this will be brief._

_Dumbledore's filing system: The bottom drawer of the chestnut filing cabinet starts with A. Work your way upwards. Each document is filed under the first initial of the person who wrote it. Don't panic – a list of who wrote what is in the top left corner of my desk, in my study. _

_The Trans. replacement: Not much help I can give you – he's a fantastic researcher, but keep an eye out for him, if possible. He's nervous with kids, and I called in a more than a few favours to get him here. _

_Poppy: Her shipment of medicinal herbs was due to come in yesterday (if this owl's as strong as I was promised he was). If it hasn't, owl the apothecary in Diagon Alley and order another load. I'll deal with it when I return. _

_Pomona: Dumbledore's approval form for the second Venomous Tentacula she requested is filed away. It needs to be posted to the school governors as soon as possible. _

_You: All I can say is good luck, Filius. Dumbledore's not the clearest of organizers, but there's a subtle system I hope you figure out that'll simplify your life. In the name of Merlin, I hereby grant you saint status. At least try to forgive me, Fil. _

_Minerva_

A wave of relief crashed through Flitwick's body as he read the letter. They could do this. He stood, disregarding his unfinished breakfast, and hurried to Pomona, sitting three chairs down. He handed her the letter, ignoring her half-formed questions.

When Sprout had finished reading, she sighed, as though a large weight had lifted off her shoulders. 'Thank Merlin,' she said, and her eyes actually watered with relief. 'Okay. We're fine. Should we tell the others –?'

Filius considered carefully. He didn't want to call an emergency staff meeting for the sole purpose of reassuring everyone – for all he knew only the heads of house had been stressed. On the other hand, if everyone _was _worried, it would be downright cruel of him to withhold the reassurance Minerva had sent them. 'I'll mention it on Friday,' he decided. 'The biweekly staff meeting is this week, isn't it? I can bring it up then.'

Pomona nodded in agreement. 'Do you mind terribly if I show the letter to Poppy? She's been – well, you know Poppy. This'll calm her down a bit.' Sprout's breakfast lay forgotten in front of her, but she didn't particularly care at this point.

'Not at all,' said Filius. He didn't bother to return to his breakfast (the delivery owl was as good as wearing it, anyway), but exited through the staff door behind the table. Hurrying off to prepare his next class, Flitwick made his way with a new spring in his step. He felt so much better already.

He didn't stop to consider what might have changed during the time it had taken the owl to arrive – three days was a long time.

* * *

It wasn't as though she hadn't dealt with worse.

She had, of course. Over the course of many years she'd had her share of _situations. _There had been the time when Filius' wife had died and he'd been unable to face the world for eight days; the time when Gideon and Fabian Prewett had set half the Forbidden Forest on fire and nearly killed a herd of hippogriffs Professor Kettleburn had tethered there; the unforgettable time James Potter and Sirius Black had gone 'exploring' outside in the middle of the night, promptly left the front doors open, and thereby allowed a herd of unicorns to wander inside. (That last had taken a solid fourteen hours to sort out – the first six to realize that the male professors were actually being counterproductive.)

Still, the sight of her bones poking out through her flesh was a sight Minerva couldn't say she'd seen before.

'Bloody hell,' she muttered, trying to keep her language relatively mild – there were ministry representatives here, after all – as the frowning healer poked the bones with her wand. They'd given her some sort of potion for the pain, but it was obviously not a very potent mixture, because the fiery throbbing her arms was very much present.

'How did you say this happened?' the Healer asked. Minerva raised her eyes in disbelief but was unable to muster up enough energy for a proper glare. She compensated by offering the Healer some choice phrases instead – so much for mild.

'Minerva, I'm so sorry, really, I am!' cried a good-looking, middle-aged wizard named Finnegan, ringing his hands agitatedly. 'I didn't mean to knock you over – God, I nearly killed you! I'm so sorry, you have no idea!' Minerva tuned him out: his apologies, though good-natured, were far too annoying to be of any comfort, besides which, this _was_ his fault, the lucky sod.

'You've got four fractured bones and a cracked rib,' the healer (Minerva couldn't be bothered to find her name) announced. 'Luckily, there's no sign of concussion, but there's some pretty extensive bruising on your back, and…' Minerva did her best to pay attention, but her concentration wavered at the mention of the word 'lucky'. _Yes, I'm very fortunate to have my skeleton on the outside of my body, _she thought savagely.

'Sir, you can't go in there!' came the voice of a young boy from outside the tent. Evidently, he'd been disregarded, for the following moment Albus Dumbledore swept inside. He eyes found Minerva easily, as she lay on the low cot that served as her hospital bed. He looked remarkably composed for a man that had just been told his deputy was grievously injured and currently lying inside the emergency tent. He moved to her side as his gaze swept her body, taking in her bloody robes, broken bones, and white, irritated face.

'Dear Minerva,' he muttered, kneeling her head. 'Is there anything you need?' He looked as though he would like to comfort her, but evidently the presence of her jutting bones and scarlet blood provided little room for comforting touches.

'Yes,' Minerva gasped. 'Shut that idiot up.' The ghost of a smile flickered over the headmaster's face as he turned to the horrified wizard. Finnegan had not escaped unscathed, but his injuries extended only to some bad bruising.

'Mr O'Reagan,' Dumbledore said benignly, 'why don't you go rest, hmm? I am sure you can adequately express your apologies later.' He smiled kindly at the anxious wizard, who relaxed slightly and exited the room with quiet thanks and a last glance to the injured witch.

The healer, meanwhile, had mended Minerva's broken bones and was setting about to the bruising on her back. Ever the gentleman, Dumbledore turned gallantly around as the experienced healer exposed Minerva's back. Minerva either appreciated the gesture, or was suffering too much to care. He hoped it was the former.

Finally, however, the witch – Healer Thompson – announced Minerva nearly good as new, and sent her on her way with the instructions to 'avoid all strenuous activity for at least three days' and a lotion to rub on her fragile back, to help with the bruising. Dumbledore accompanied her out of the tent.

After a quick check-in with her supervisor to give her report and assure them of her good health, Minerva agreed to Dumbledore's suggestion of a walk at the edge of the camp. They strolled along in comfortable silence for a time, before Minerva sighed and stretched, wincing slightly at the pain in her back.

'I suppose this will keep me out of the field for the next three days,' the stern professor said, shooting a glance at her companion. He met her eyes with a cheerful smile, his eyes sparkling with renewed cheer.

'Yes, I expect so,' he said benevolently, as though he hadn't a care in the world. Minerva shot him a look and sighed exasperatedly. He twinkled down at her and chuckled, his stout boots crunching on the path.

'Yes, I am grateful that you are currently out of commission and cannot partake in dangerous, risky tasks of which I know nothing, but Minerva, I of course wish you hadn't been injured,' Dumbledore finally obliged her, growing serious towards the end.

'Yes, well, that makes two of us,' Minerva replied curtly. 'And you needn't pretend you know nothing, Albus. I'm well accustomed to you knowing things you shouldn't.' She straightened her glasses, rolling her shoulders in an attempt to acclimatize herself to the soreness in her back.

'Omniscience is a gift,' Dumbledore joked in his usual, light-hearted manner. 'Truthfully, though, Minerva, I know very little of your – well, assignment, so to speak.' Minerva eyed him with a look he knew she gave students who lied about why they hadn't done their homework, and he relented. 'Alright, yes, I do know the gist of it. You are, I believe, to establish a safe route, of sorts, into the giant's camp?'

'You make it sound very simple,' Minerva muttered. 'Why don't you try it? That might prove more successful.' She stalked on ahead of him, irritation plain on her face, her back straight and her steps quick.

Dumbledore followed her, not put off, knowing her as he did. 'Minerva, you don't need me to tell you that you're doing well. You know that already. It is an intensely difficult undertaking, and you know that you are perhaps the only one capable –'

'Yes, and I'm starting to regret ever becoming an Animagus, if all it does is coerce me into dangerous things no one else is able to do,' Minerva said brusquely. Memories of tasks for the Order she'd done flashed through her mind, and she frowned involuntarily.

'It is very dangerous, then?' Dumbledore said briskly. 'What you do?' They'd stopped walking now, and paused at the edge of the forest line. Standing face to face, Minerva met Dumbledore's piercing gaze with resolution.

'Yes,' she said, 'but you knew that already.'

'I like hearing it from you, Minerva,' Dumbledore said earnestly. He took her hands gently, stepping closer to her. 'I like hearing everything from you.' His voice dropped, deep and warm, and the look in his eyes seemed to smoulder, a look to which Minerva was not yet fully accustomed.

His hands were warm and gentle around hers, and Minerva sensed more in that gesture than others, perhaps, would understand. Both Dumbledore and Minerva were very reserved, whether due to generation or nature she wasn't sure, and neither of them were people who touched others lightly. This seemingly innocent gesture, holding hands, seemed profoundly intimate, and Minerva, not one who blushed lightly, flushed rose as he tightened his grip.

'Perhaps,' she murmured, 'if you're patient, you might hear more from me. Something more…meaningful.' He smiled, gently, stepping closer still and enveloping her with his warm gaze.

'I can be patient,' he said softly. 'In the meantime, maybe you'd like to hear something from me? Something…meaningful?' His tone of voice, not quite teasing, but soft and deep, was the only audible sound – or perhaps, to Minerva, the only sound that mattered.

'Such as?' she smiled, allowing one of his hands to release hers and stroke, with a feather-light touch, her soft cheek. He touched her hair, then trailed his hand down her back, where he carefully laid his fingertips on the black-and-blue and skin he knew lay underneath her robes.

'Being the shameless eavesdropper that I am,' he said, smiling, 'I may have heard that your back requires some attention. I thought perhaps,' he said, pausing, breathing, 'that I might be permitted to help?'

Minerva looked at him, sensing, with acute precision, where his fingers touched her sensitive back, where his other hand still held hers. She remembered the lotion, prescribed by the healer, to be smoothed onto her back once a day. Was he too forward? 'Are you offering?'

'I am,' was the answer, straightforward, cautious, but sincere.

'In that case,' answered Minerva, 'I should be happy for the help.' They smiled at each other, not shy, but with the ease and warmth of two friends and who were, perhaps, en route to becoming something more.

Minerva, who rather thought the moment could have lasted much longer, was the first to hear the quick, crunching footsteps approaching their little sanctuary. She stepped away from Dumbledore – propriety first, after all.

Minerva vaguely recognized the witch that approached them, but without the name-tag (which read 'Justine' and was, if slightly ridiculous, rather helpful) she wouldn't have had a hope of putting a name to this face – a face, at the moment, was smiling at Dumbledore with unnecessary warmth.

'Madame Lebeau,' Dumbledore said, inclining his head in greeting. 'Good evening.' _Oh. That Justine._

'Good evening, Albus,' returned the witch with the pinched face and curly brown hair. She gave him a smile that seemed almost unnatural on her irritating – no, corrected Minerva, irritat_ed_ – face. _Careful, now_. The witch turned to Minerva.

'Miss McGonagall, I presume?' she said in what was obviously her usual short manner. The slight emphasis on _miss_, the challenging cock of an eyebrow – Minerva saw Albus tense slightly in preparation for – for lack of a better term – a catfight.

But Minerva held out her hand and replied, 'Professor, please. Madame Lebeau – pleasure.' in the tone of she always respectfully reserved for stuffy, annoyingly obnoxious ministry officials.

Madame Lebeau narrowed her eyes and shot a darting look between Minerva and Dumbledore as she shook the proffered hand, then gave Minerva a satisfied smile. 'Yes, well,' she said, smoothing her robes as though she was posing for a Witch Weekly cover and not standing the middle of a rocky mountain clearing. 'Dumbledore, if you could come with me, please,' she requested smoothly. Stepping forwards (offensively close, in Minerva's opinion), she laid a hand on Dumbledore's arm. 'There's something urgent we must discuss.'

Minerva, far from lowering herself to that level and rising to the challenge that had so clearly, if non-verbally, been issued to her, merely looked amused. 'It seems you are needed,' she said to Dumbledore. 'Off you go, I won't keep you.'

'My apologies, Minerva,' the headmaster replied, and Minerva knew him well enough to recognize the tone of voice that meant he was hiding a touch of irritation towards their intruder. 'Perhaps we can continue our walk later?' It was a genuine invitation, and though Minerva was sorely tempted to look at Lebeau's face, she resisted and shrugged instead.

'Perhaps,' she answered politely. 'Good evening, Headmaster, Madame Lebeau.' Dumbledore smiled at her, his eyes twinkling mischievously, and then he leaned in to kiss Minerva's cheek. At the last moment, however, he turned his head and kissed her lightly on the lips. He was brief, knowing how reserved she was (out of the two of them, she was the more reserved, but only by a slim margin), but he was grinning as he pulled away.

Minerva cursed her injury thoroughly for the first time, if only because it prevented her from popping into tabby form. It would have been easier to transform than to hold back her laughter as Dumbledore led a mortified, furiously disbelieving Justine Lebeau away. Ah, well. Life wasn't all Honeydukes chocolate, after all, as the saying went. _And that, _Minerva thought as she returned to her tent, _is a damn shame. _

**TBC**

_A/N: Well, here I am. Contrite, pathetic, and begging your forgiveness, but here nonetheless. :) I swear that the next chapter will be up much more quickly than the last (I mean it this time, really), and I will do by best to respond to reviews this time around. I'm a horrible person, I know, and if I could send a winning lottery ticket to each and every one of you, I would. THANK YOU so much for your support, and, if you a have a moment, please leave a review - even if it's to tell me that I took too long with the update. ;-) You people are all wonderful! :D More coming soon!_


	21. Inspection

_The next chapter, delivered as promised! Read and enjoy!_

**Inspection**

'Knock knock?' Albus Dumbledore poked his head inside the modest tent he knew to be Professor McGonagall's. He'd come to find her after Madame Lebeau had stolen him away, supplying him with information about ministry involvement forms, the International Magical Cooperation Office, salaries for the workers, etc.: all things that Albus filed away in his head until such a time that he actually cared. The only detail he had paid attention to was the sheaf of parchment he came across entitled _Report of an Injury or Dangerous Occurrence_. He'd scanned it quickly and made a mental note to ask Minerva later if she'd filled one out. He cast a quick _Geminio_ on it and tucked the copy into his robes, just in case.

'Here, Albus,' Minerva said, walking briskly towards him. She was holding herself slightly differently, he noted, not in such a way that anyone would notice, but enough that he could tell she was in pain. She paused at a table to look at something, so Albus took the opportunity to scan the room for her prescription. He found it on a low sofa to his right, and took a few casual steps in that direction to read it.

'Minerva?' he asked, as though he'd been standing there immobile, waiting for her the whole time. She glanced up from the paper she'd been reading with an apologetic look.

'Oh, I'm sorry, Albus, forgive me. These forms are a nuisance.' Dumbledore strode to her side to find, not the required injury forms he'd hoped for, but Hogwarts' papers for payment during a leave of absence. He'd been forced to fill them out himself, but that wasn't what he'd hoped Minerva would be doing.

'They can wait, my dear. We have a few things to take care of first,' Dumbledore said gently. Minerva raised her eyebrows as Dumbledore reached within his robes. 'Have you filled these out yet?' he asked, offering her the injury reports he'd copied earlier. Minerva frowned as she took them.

'No,' she muttered. 'I completely forgot about them.' Forgetfulness was not something Minerva was usually in the habit of readily admitting to, but Dumbledore thought it understandable, given the circumstances. One of his greatest gifts (in his not-so-humble opinion) was his empathy, his compassion, and, acutely aware of what Minerva must be feeling, he ached for her. She had not imparted any details of her injury to him other than that it had been a landslide, down the side of a mountain, but he could see clearly enough that it had been terrifying.

'Well then,' Albus said with a smile, 'why don't you fill those out while I tend to your back? You look as though you could use a bit of pain relief.' Minerva frowned again, not looking at all enthusiastic.

'It's to heal my back, Albus, not to alleviate discomfort, which I should be able to handle anyway,' she informed him, moving away from him to search for a quill. He smiled and followed her.

'Ah, but there's a numbing potion mixed in with the healing one that will help, I do believe,' he told her cheerfully. Minerva found a quill and began to hunt for a bottle of ink. It was a sign of how little she wanted to fill out the forms that she did not simply summon one and save herself the trouble.

'I'm not going to ask how you knew that,' she said huffily, finally locating a small bottle of black ink and holding it as though she expected it to explode at any moment. Dumbledore smiled mysteriously and patted her shoulder, saying nothing. Minerva shot him a look and sighed, long-suffering.

'Come, have a seat,' Dumbledore said cheerfully, leading Minerva over to a chair. He positioned the chair so that it was sideways against the table, the better to access her back, and settled his deputy into it. He lay the forms, quill, and ink on the table in front of her, summoned the bottle of lotion, and paused.

'Go on, then,' Minerva said curtly, reaching a hand to the back of her neck to ensure her hair was out of the way. She seemed stiff; uncomfortable; wooden; and Albus knew that he couldn't treat her this way. He wanted this to be special, as much as was possible.

Gently placing the bottle on the table, Dumbledore took Minerva's hand where it still played with loose strands of hair at the nape of her neck, bent, and kissed it softly, once on the back, once on the palm, and once, very lightly, on the inside of her wrist. He released her hand delicately, where fell down to rest in her lap, then bent again and kissed the nape of her neck.

Minerva, who had been silent the whole time, gasped at the gentle touch. Dumbledore kissed the nape of her neck again, then moved his lips to place where her neck met her shoulder, his hands gently massaging her shoulders. He leaned forward and kissed Minerva's cheek as he drew his wand, and used a quick, quiet spell to create a slit in the back of her robes, and then replaced his wand. He slowly slid his hands under the slit he'd made, pushing her robes towards her front, but leaving her arms in them so she could cover her chest. When her back had been exposed, Dumbledore picked up the bottle of lotion, slowly pouring some into his hand, giving Minerva time to tell him to stop if she wanted to. However, she was silent but for her steady breathing, so he smoothed the potion between his two hands and began to rub it into her back.

Albus saw from the lift of her cheek that she was smiling, and smiled in response as he continued to touch her back. It felt very, very good. Minerva had a lovely back: slender, but kept fit and strong by her Animagus form, marked here and there by small scars she'd earned from past duels, and one long, thin white one that marred the outside of her right shoulder blade. And, of course, the dark discolouration of the bruising that began at the left of her waist and climbed its way up to her opposite shoulder. Finnegan O'Reagan had mentioned something about a tree that had fallen during the landslide, but he'd been so horrified at the time that Albus had had difficultly getting details. It didn't matter, he thought, how it had happened, as long as Minerva was safe now.

He thought she might have fallen asleep when, half an hour later, she did not stir as he straightened, put the stopper in the bottle, and cleaned his hands. But when he drew his wand and repaired the slit he'd made in her robes, she straightened and stretched, standing and turning to Albus almost shyly.

'Thank you,' she said. 'I do appreciate it.' She cleared her throat, straightened, and looked around. 'I never got those forms filled out, though.' Albus beamed and pecked her cheek, replacing the chair in its original position.

'Not at all, Minerva,' he said gallantly. 'Shall I stop by tomorrow, as well?' He truly did mean it as a question, to give her the opportunity to decline if she wished. But she smiled, and nodded, and he left feeling satisfied.

It was only as he prepared for bed that Albus thought to wonder at their relationship. He'd never had anything quite like it, nothing like this casual-yet-serious liaison between them. It was confusing, of course, in that he didn't want to change a thing between them, but that he also wanted everything to change. He'd been content with what they had thus far, but he supposed that most women wanted something solid eventually, something to label and point and say 'This is mine, this is what we are', but with Minerva it was hard to tell.

And Minerva was hardly a young woman: she looked marvellous for her seventy-odd years, even given the fact that most witches could live well into their hundreds, but she wasn't a twenty-five year old witch, either. If she'd wanted marriage and children, she would have had them already, wouldn't she?

He'd asked her about it, once, just a gentle inquiry as to why she hadn't married. She'd pinned him to his seat with a look and answered, in her usual wry fashion, that not all witches wanted marriage. She had children, hundreds of them, and they were hers for ten months a year, for seven years. It wasn't the same as having your own children, of course, but she'd never given any indication that she wanted them.

So what _did_ Minerva want? That, Albus thought, was what it came right down to. Not glory, certainly not, she was far too selfless and reserved for that. Not power, nor fame, and apparently he'd ruled out anything that went with domestic life. Was she really fulfilled with teaching and research? Would it be rude to ask what she wanted? Did it bother her that they couldn't categorize their relationship?

But it bothered him that _he_ couldn'tput a name to what they were. More than friends, given the subtle physical side of things, but they weren't lovers, not in the technical sense. He'd never given a thought to developing an intimate relationship with someone after that horrific incident with Gellert during his youth, though his faith in love had grown, if possible, even stronger. He'd been attracted to the occasional man or woman over the years, but never had he spared even a thought for pursuing any of those feelings, which were always fleeting at best.

It wasn't who you were attracted to, Albus thought. When it came right down to it, it was who you fell in love with.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Minerva awoke, heart racing and eyes darting. _Bed, table, chair. _She needed to sleep.

_Pain. _

She needed to SLEEP. _Blanket, slippers, pillow. _She was so tired.

_Running. _

_Earth shaking. _

No, sleep, fall asleep, she was tired, she had to sleep. Roll over. _Tent, lamp, shoes._

_Feet slipping. _

_Trees falling. _

_Rocks – _

No! Sleep, sleep, _blanket bed pillow table – _

_Running falling slipping – _

_BLANKETBEDPILLOWTABLE!_

_ROCKS CRASHING – _

Minerva was out of bed and on her feet within two seconds; another three and she was in her small kitchen, complete with dressing gown and slippers. She paced back and forth, trying to calm her heart, because that was all she could hear, the blood pounding in her ears. She lit a lamp and sat at the table, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a sigh.

They all had nightmares. Every once in a while the faces of the dead came back to haunt you, even after the reason for their deaths was dead. Even after their killer had been killed, their white, bloodied faces floated in everyone's dreams. Maybe it was a legacy of living through three wars; maybe there was something about her that called their bodies to the forefront of her mind, but whatever it was she'd accepted it and learned to deal with it long ago. A mug of tea, strong and bitter, a warm fire, sometimes a ready ear – fine, she could handle it.

And she'd dreamt of her death – hadn't everyone? Dying in the face of Grindelwald, of Voldemort, sometimes of her late mother-in-law, but always with dignity and courage. But this dream had been more – real. Flashes of the landslide, of massive stones smashing their way towards her with impossible speed, of roaring giants and falling trees – God, what was _wrong _with her?

_Get over it, Minerva, _she told herself firmly. _You're absolutely fine, barely even injured. And, _she added in her thoughts with a suppressed smile, _you've got an attractive wizard tending to you. _Yes.

Resigned to getting no more sleep that night, Minerva brightened the light in the room and summoned the injury report papers, along with a quill and bottle of ink. May as well get something useful done while she was awake.

**TBC**

_Hope you all enjoyed - thanks HEAPS to all my reviewers, I'll get back to you eventually, I promise. Leave a review? New chapter?_


	22. Leaps and Bounds

**Leaps and Bounds**

_Dear Filius,_

_As I write to you, the ground is shaking. Why? Because there's a colony of giants having a wrestling match two miles from where I sit. Does it sound like I'll be coming home soon?_

Minerva sighed and balled up the roll of parchment, tossing it over her shoulder into the bin behind her, where it joined the small mountain of other, unfinished letters to Hogwarts' current headmaster.

'Nice shot,' someone remarked conversationally from her doorway.

Minerva balled up her last attempt and shot it at her visitor without turning around. It missed.

'Violence never solved anything, Minerva,' Dumbledore said cheerily, striding uninvited into her tent and making himself at home. 'What exactly seems to be the trouble?'

Minerva groaned and threw down the abused quill she'd been twisting in her hands. 'Can't you write to Filius?' she said instead, doing her best not to whine. 'I'm in a terrible mood, and everything I write makes it sounds like I'm plotting someone's death. Which I will be, in a moment.'

Dumbledore chuckled, picking up the quill. 'Perhaps you just need something to cheer you up, Min,' he suggested with a smile, his eyes twinkling.

'I'm open to suggestions,' Minerva agreed tiredly.

'Perhaps a break?' Albus said, standing and holding out his hand. 'A walk?'

'A sit,' replied Minerva firmly. 'Right now, in fact. If you don't mind,' she added as an afterthought, rising to her feet.

Dumbledore observed her carefully for a moment, as if gauging her mood, before he nodded and took her hand. They made their way over to the couch and sat down, where he wrapped his arm around her and she sank into his shoulder.

They'd been away from Hogwarts for almost three weeks, now, and Minerva was getting impatient. She missed her friends, and her students, and she missed teaching. Even (almost) those obnoxious fifth year Slytherins.

They'd made progress in the last few days. There had been a small breakthrough, and Dumbledore had had a quick audience with the Gurg that hadn't ended in a bloodbath. There had been one additional meeting since then, and though Minerva was hoping to be sent home, she wasn't optimistic. They needed her to keep the passages open.

Still, things had been looking up until two nights ago, when another fight had broken out amongst the giants. Crisis control was shaky, and they were still picking up the pieces. It didn't look like Minerva, or Albus, would be going home soon.

There were good things about it, though. The flip side to the Galleon, if you will. The people were nice (most of them), and Hagrid was always there to talk to. And Albus. The rustic background could have been romantic if it weren't for the threat of war that hung over their heads.

It was this thought that prompted Minerva to shift forward and brush her lips against Albus'. He didn't pause before lowering his head and returning the kiss, taking her face gently in his hands. The soft kiss was warm and light and comforting, but suddenly Minerva didn't want comfort. She didn't want softness right now, or gentleness, or any of Albus Dumbledore's eternal understanding.

If Albus was surprised when Minerva's movements became more demanding than sweet, he didn't show it. He gripped her hips tightly and returned her kiss roughly, burying one hand deep in her hair and wrapping the other possessively around her waist. He broke away to gulp at the air before mouthing along the underside of her jaw. She threw her head back and arched into him.

'Minerva, Minerva,' Dumbledore said after a few minutes of this, his breath coming in deep pants and his face flushed. 'Stop a moment, please.'

Minerva drew back and considered him. 'Was there something you wanted?' she asked, and the words could have been teasing if they hadn't come out so acerbically. Dumbledore ran a hand over his face and shifted so that he sat beside Minerva instead of under her. And then, with a feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from him, he spoke.

'I am committed to you, Minerva,' he said. 'I hope you know that.'

Minerva looked at him, the faintest suggestion of surprise lifting her features, but did not speak. Albus continued.

'I know we haven't discussed this in detail, and I understand if you feel this is too much,' he continued, feeling as though she expected him to speak. 'I thought perhaps you might want something a little more concrete to hold onto – my experience with witches hasn't really provided me with enough information from which to draw with any degree of confidence – but I was under the impression that –,' but he was cut by Minerva's lips on his.

'Committed?' she repeated thoughtfully once she had drawn away. 'Yes, I suppose I like that. We,' she said, gesturing between the two of them, 'are together, then?' At Dumbledore's nod, she nodded thoughtfully again, the movement almost businesslike. She thought of Filius, always a romantic, and grinned when she thought of how he would've cringed had he witnessed the moment. 'Well, good, then.'

Albus observed the smirk that Minerva shot at him, but what had more value to him was the smile of genuine happiness that hid underneath.

* * *

_Dear Filius,_

_We're just fine here, love, there's no need to worry. Things are improving, and I hope to be home within the month. I attached the list you asked for at the back of this letter. _

_Enjoy your Valentine's Day, Fil! Kiss a pretty witch for me. _

_Minerva_

TBC

Sorry for the length, and the wait. Constructive criticism welcome as always. :) _The Journey _will most likely be undergoing some reconstruction soon, fixing grammar and plot holes and such. Thanks for reading :)


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